


Bloodstained Rose

by TanyaReed



Series: Devereaux [2]
Category: Leverage, The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Ghosts, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 47,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9589394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanyaReed/pseuds/TanyaReed
Summary: While visiting her uncle, Sophie Devereaux is visited by the ghost of a young woman.  Intrigued, she decides to find out who the woman is and what she wants.  Unfortunately, there are some secrets that are better left buried.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a sequel to last spring's Devereaux, which puts the Leverage and The Librarians characters in a version of the Castle universe. I've been wanting to write an original story with these characters since I rewrote the Castle pilot, and, though I always intended it to be a murder mystery along the same lines as a Castle episode, my muse gave me a ghost story instead. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> If you haven't read Devereaux, you might want to read that one first, just so you understand who the characters are. If you don't want to read it, but you're familiar with the Castle universe, I guess all you need to know is that events in the last story were *almost* (with some important changes because Sophie and Castle are two very different people) parallel to the Castle pilot. The characters I replaced were:
> 
> Kate-Eliot  
> Rick-Sophie  
> Ryan and Esposito-Eve and Hardison  
> Martha and Alexis-Cassie and Parker (as sisters)  
> Captain Montgomery-Nate  
> Gina-Flynn  
> Lanie-Jake  
> that detective from the pilot whose name I never remember-Ezekiel
> 
> Oh, and I was just going through this and saw there were a few typos. Oops. I'll try to get back and fix them later, when I have time. Until then, pretend they aren't there. :)

Sophie couldn't stop staring at the little body in the photographs. From their investigation over the past two days, she knew that he was nine years old and that his name was Adam Mitchell. He was small for his age and blond, his face round like a cherub. If you didn't look below his neck, he seemed to be sleeping, but Sophie's eyes were drawn again and again to the gaping hole in his chest.

All three of the detectives she worked with had been grim and quiet throughout the investigation, and there was none of their usual friendly antics. Sophie was gratified to know that she wasn't the only one affected by the child's death, but she didn't want them to know how much it really bothered her. She fought to hide how upset she was. If Eliot guessed the way Adam's face haunted her or the terrible nightmares that had been keeping her awake, he might use that as a reason to send her away.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Eliot glanced at her and said, “We'll be getting the results back any minute. If they're conclusive, we'll be able to make the arrest.”

Their suspect was Adam's stepfather, and none of them doubted the wanker had done it. They'd found the murder weapon, and it had contained a clear set of prints. Now they were just waiting for the results. Wanting the case solved as soon as possible, Sophie had called in another favour, and they'd been fast tracked.

“Anything yet?” Hardison asked as he and Baird came over and sat at their desks.

“Nope,” Eliot told him.

“I think when we arrest the bastard, we should all go out for a good, stiff drink,” Eve commented.

“I'll buy,” Eliot offered.

Sophie raised her eyebrows at him.

“What?”

“I've never heard you say that before.”

“You can buy if you want.”

Sophie just shook her head and didn't say anything. When the case was over, her plans were to go home and forget it ever happened. The strain of pretending she was okay was getting to her, and she was tired of wearing her mask.

She barely listened as the conversation continued around her. Her eyes once more went to Adam, and she wondered what it would have been like to be his mother, to lose a child so brutally, to be the one to find him lying on the floor with a bullet in his chest.

“Devereaux?”

Sophie glanced at Eliot when he said her name.

“You okay?”

Sophie forced a smile. “Just thinking about my next scene.”

He studied her for a few seconds, and she wasn't sure if he bought it. He didn't get to say anything because his desk phone rang shrilly. He met Baird's eyes before picking up the receiver.

“Spencer...It's a match? Thanks, Joe.” He hung up and said, “All right, guys, let's go get him.”

XXX

Adam's stepfather was a big man. He towered over Eliot, and his arms looked as big as tree trunks. Sophie was worried when he fought against his arrest, but she shouldn't have been. Eliot was strong and, though it was a struggle, was able to subdue the suspect.

Despite his size, the man was surprisingly normal looking. Nothing about him indicated that he would snap and murder a child. That often fascinated Sophie, the violent acts that came so easily to normal, sane looking people. Sometimes you couldn't tell when someone was about to snap, and you stood bewildered in the wreckage wondering what had happened.

The grieving mother stood off to the side, watching everything with her arms tight across her body and broken eyes. Her presence at the arrest made everything worse. It tinged their triumph with pain. 

When Hardison and Baird were finally on the way to the station with their suspect, Sophie was left alone with Eliot. Adam's mother had turned and gone back inside the house. Sophie would never forget the way she'd stared after Baird's car. It was the most heartbreaking thing she had ever seen.

“You coming to MacRory's?” Eliot asked, and Sophie's eyes snapped away from the inconspicuous looking house.

“Hmn?”

“To get that drink.”

“No. I don't think so.”

“You sure?”

All Sophie wanted to do was curl up in bed and mourn for a child that she'd never even met. “I'm tired. I think I'll go home.”

He was searching her face again, and Sophie didn't like it. “I'll give you a lift.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded. “Not a problem.”

She was surprised when his hand briefly brushed her arm before he got into the car. The touch was soothing, as he'd probably meant it, and she wanted him to touch her again.

The two of them were silent as they drove to her apartment. Sophie's control was beginning to fray at the edges, and she was afraid that if she spoke all of the darkness their case had birthed inside of her would spill out and she'd break into a million pieces. That was definitely not something she wanted Eliot to witness.

For the first time since she'd met him, Sophie was relieved to say good-bye to Eliot. She said it quickly, plastering on a pleasant expression through the strands of hair the strong wind kept blowing into her mouth.

“See you in the morning?” he asked as she straightened to close the door.

“Yes, see you in the morning. Have a drink for me as well.”

“Will do. Bye.”

Sophie closed the door and waved as he drove out of sight. The day wasn't all that cold, but she was shivering and there was an ache in her chest. She rubbed her arms briskly as she headed inside.

The building was mostly quiet, but a mother with two children got on the elevator with her in the lobby. The children were well behaved, and the smaller one smiled shyly. Sophie smiled back and felt tears come to her eyes. 

By the time the elevator got to the penthouse, Sophie was holding on to her composure by her fingernails. She hoped her sisters weren't home yet because she hated breaking down in front of them as much as she hated the thought of breaking down in front of Eliot.

Sophie opened the door of her apartment and dropped her keys in the tray nearby. She had an overwhelming need for a shower to wash away the horror of all she'd seen over the past forty-eight hours.

Since the apartment was blessedly silent, she made her way to her bedroom without pausing. She didn't even bother to stop for clothes as she continued through to the bathroom.

Emotion welled up in her chest, and her hands shook as she started on her buttons. The only thing worse than a child's death was a violent child's death, and she wished she could scrub the images from her mind.

When she was naked, she turned the spray on its hardest level, as hot as she could stand. It was a relief to get in the shower and let herself go. Water beat at her, the hot streams hurting in a good way.

She felt the first sob wrack her body and closed her eyes to tip her face up. Water burned her cheeks an instant before tears that were almost as hot broke free. Sophie's whole body shook as she sobbed again.

The first two sobs were the hardest. Once they were released, the others tumbled out quickly. They were so strong that Sophie wrapped her arms around herself to keep from flying apart.

This was the first time she'd allowed herself to cry for that little boy and all he'd lost. It was the first time she'd allowed herself to imagine how frightened he must have been. She thought again of his mother's face, of the hollow eyed pain as she watched her husband being led away.

When Sophie had no more tears left to cry and the water had grown cold, she got out of the shower and dried herself. Feeling drained, she slipped on the big, fluffy robe she kept on a hook on the back of the door. As she did, she heard the faint sound of laughter from the other side of the apartment.

Checking her face in the mirror, she discovered the flush from the heat of the water mostly disguised the blotchy red from her meltdown. Satisfied that the girls wouldn't know how upset she was, Sophie once again put on her mask.

When she entered the great room, Cassie and Parker were chatting happily as they unpacked bags of Chinese food.

“Sophie, you're home!” Parker exclaimed.

“We solved the case.”

“So you can eat with us?”

“I'm all yours.”

Parker flashed her a smile, and Sophie felt her heart start to lighten.

“Did you buy enough for three?” she asked.

“We bought enough for twelve,” Cassie told her. “Parker couldn't make up her mind.”

“Leftovers for breakfast?”

“And dinner and supper again.”

The talk went on like that, and Sophie let her love for her sisters warm the places that her hot shower hadn't reached. By bedtime, she felt almost like herself.

XXX

Sophie felt a bit better the next morning. Since all three of the sisters would be out for the day, they got up early enough to have breakfast (not leftovers) together. Cassie and Parker talked animatedly while eating their waffles, and Sophie watched them with a slight smile on her face.

Afterward, she was almost cheerful as she picked out some clothes to wear to the station. She brought them into the bathroom with her and began to brush her teeth.

She was halfway done when, suddenly, her stomach started clenching with anxiety. Sophie frowned. Her hand paused as she realized she wasn't ready to go back to work with Eliot. Her dreams of the night before had been the worst ones yet, filled with blood and screams and a little boy crying brokenly for his mommy.

With a sigh, she finished brushing her teeth and revised her plans for the day. Instead of spending her time with the real, flesh and blood, gruff and good looking Detective Eliot Spencer, she'd be spending it with his doppelganger, Cole Maxwell.

She should be working on her novel anyway, she rationalized, and, as much as she enjoyed working with Eliot, he certainly didn't need her. The next day would be soon enough to go back to the station.

Once her mind was made up, she knew it was the right decision. She combed her hair and pulled it up into a simple ponytail but didn't bother to get dressed. Pajamas made pretty good writing clothes.

XXX

Three days later, Sophie was in her office staring at the wall as she tried to untie her newest block. The apartment was quiet because she was the only one home, but she still couldn't seem to concentrate. Instead of thinking about Cole Maxwell, she was thinking about Eliot. She hadn't been back to the station since her meltdown, and she missed him.

She knew she should call him and tell him she was taking a short break, but she kept putting it off. She was a little hurt that he hadn't called her, even though it meant she didn't have to admit how disturbed she'd been by Adam Mitchell's death.

She was about to give in and go get a snack when the phone on her desk rang. Sophie winced. Usually, the only one who consistently used her home number was her mother.

Sophie was tempted not to answer. Every conversation she'd had with her mother since she was fourteen years old had been painful. There was no reason to think this one would be any different.

Finally, on the last ring before the machine would get it, Sophie picked up the receiver. “Hello, Mother.”

“Sophie, what took you so long?”

“I was writing.”

“More of your little stories?”

“Twenty published novels,” she reminded her.

“At least that's better than running around with that police officer.”

“His name's Eliot.”

“Why you feel the need to work at all when your father left you all that money...”

“Is there a reason you called, Mother?” Sophie asked wearily. Dealing with her mother always made her feel weary.

“Does a mother need a reason to call her daughter?”

“I don't know. Were you looking for me or were you looking for Parker or Cassie?”

“What do you mean? I swear, half of the time I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Nothing. Sorry, Mother.”

“I actually was calling for a reason.”

No big surprise there. “Yes?”

“When was the last time any of you went to visit your Uncle Jenkins?”

Jenkins was their mother's older half-brother. He was gruff and a bit crusty, but he seemed to know everything. His first name was something like Reinhold or Renfield, but he'd hated it so much that no one ever called him by it, at least not in Sophie's hearing. He' d always just been Uncle Jenkins, and all three girls had adored him when they were growing up.

“It's been awhile,” Sophie admitted guiltily.

“Then don't you think you should? He's living alone in that big, drafty monstrosity he bought last year, and he refuses to come out to see me, even for the day.” Uncle Jenkins was a little eccentric.

“Have you gone to see him?”

“Yes.” Sophie could hear her mother's distaste.

“The house can't be that bad.”

“You haven't seen it.”

“Why this sudden interest in our dropping in for a visit?”

“We're the only family he has.” There was a genuine note of concern in her voice.

“We'll drop in on him this weekend.”

“You've always been such a good girl, Sophie.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows. This was a new one. “That's me.”

“Are you taking care of yourself?”

She thought of the three day old Chinese leftovers she'd had for breakfast. “Yes.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“I'm too busy.”

“Things aren't getting romantic with that police officer, are they?”

“No, Mother.” Though she wouldn't say no to a turn in that direction.

“You should find yourself a good man and forget about your scribblings and about running around hunting killers. Maria Thompson's daughter throws charity events. Wouldn't you like to throw charity events?”

She'd rather die. “Events aren't my thing.”

“But you're such a pretty girl.”

Two compliments in one call. “Did you want something else, Mother?”

“Just all three of my girls to be happy.”

“We are,” she assured her.

“That's all I ask.”

“I've got to go, Mother. I have something in the oven.” Sophie crossed her fingers.

“ _You_ have something in the oven?”

“You don't have to sound so astonished.”

“Well, Sophie, dear, you're not known for your cooking.”

“But I am known for my eating...The timer's going off. I'll talk to you later.”

“Okay. Tell Parker she's left her favorite sweater here.”

“I will. Bye, Mother.”

Hanging up the phone was such a relief that Sophie felt almost giddy. She loved her mother, but they were very different people. Her mother was a smotherer, and Sophie had been stubbornly independent since her first steps. Where Parker and Cassie had flourished under their mother's watchful eye, it had chafed Sophie, and the freedom she'd had when visiting her father fit her personality so much better.

Her conversation with her mother had squashed any remnants of creativity, so Sophie saved her document, got up, and stretched. It was time for some feel good fuel.

XXX

Eliot scowled into his coffee, cursing the mound of paperwork waiting for him. Just the thought of it made him cranky, and it was almost enough to make him wish for a murder. Almost.

Of course, he admitted to himself—though he'd never admit it to anyone else, even his brother—that wasn't the only reason he was cranky. He missed Devereaux. He missed the way she smiled and the way she smelled. He missed her razor sharp insights into whatever problem they were working on.

He hadn't heard from her in days. At first, her silence had been a relief because he'd still been working under the delusion that he only reluctantly let her tag along. It wasn't long before he came to the astonishing conclusion that he liked working cases with her.

Despite missing her, he hadn't called. She'd been pretty upset about the Adam Mitchell case, so he figured that's what was keeping her away. Over the two months he'd known her, he'd come to discover that only half of what Sophie was feeling actually made it to her face. She was warm and open, a bit of a flirt and a light hearted tease, but she didn't like to show her emotions. He'd had to start listening to her silences and paying attention to her body language.

That wasn't the only reason he hadn't called. If he called, she'd know that he missed her. She'd know she mattered to him.

“Hey!” Hardison said. “Still no Devereaux?”

“You know how she is about paperwork.” Eliot put down his mug and grabbed his first file.

“Yeah, paperwork.”

“You got something to say, Hardison?”

“Just wondering if she's coming back. Kid cases are tough.”

“So's Devereaux.” Eliot flipped open the folder. “She'll be back. I wouldn't be lucky enough for her to give up and stay away.”

Hardison snorted.

“What?”

“That girl's got you wrapped around her finger—just like she has everybody else.”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying.”

“Don't you have somethin' better to do?”

“Nah.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Slow week.”

“Don't say that. Never say that.” Eliot was interrupted by the ringing of his desk phone. Seeing the Caller ID, he growled, “Dammit, Hardison!”

“What?”

Eliot just waved at him and answered the phone. At least the call meant the end of paperwork.


	2. Chapter 2

As Sophie drove up to the old mansion, she had to admit it was a little spooky. It was at least a hundred years old, large and grand, but not quite as splendid as it had once been. The paint peeled a little. At least two of the shutters had been lost by time. The front porch sagged a little bit, but the swing full of cushions looked strong and sturdy.

“This place is creepy!” Parker said from the backseat.

“I kind of like it,” Cassie replied, turning to look at her sister. “It's romantic.”

Sophie couldn't see anything romantic about the place. Being so isolated and worn, it made her think of Hallowe'en not Valentine's Day. 

“I wonder if Uncle Jenkins is home,” Cassie continued.

Both of Sophie's sisters had been enthusiastic about an overnight visit with their uncle, and neither young woman had to be persuaded to drop everything and come with her.

“Does he live here all by himself?” Parker asked, peeking upwards through the car window as they parked.

“Who else would live with him?” Sophie said, but she was smiling.

“I would.” Parker opened her door and stepped out, narrowly missing a puddle.

“Me, too,” Cassie chimed in.

The three of them walked up the overgrown path to the porch. Sophie decided she would talk to her uncle about hiring someone to come do some yard work and maybe even spruce up the outside of the house.

“Why do you think he bought this place?” Parker asked, looking around the yard.

“It's suits him,” Sophie told her. “This is just the sort of house I'd expect him to live in.”

“I'll bet it's huge inside,” Cassie commented, lightly climbing the steps. “I wonder if he's done any restoration.”

“Knowing him, he's been spending all his time in the lab, and he wouldn't even know if the whole house fell down.” Their uncle was an old school inventor, one like you saw on old TV shows.

“I wonder what he's working on.”

“Probably something fun.” Parker hopped up the steps and passed Cassie to knock on the door.

Sophie followed them more carefully because the steps sagged suspiciously under her weight.

Parker had to knock three times before the door opened to reveal their Uncle Jenkins. He looked much as Sophie remembered him, except his hair was a little grayer. He was dressed in a nice suit, his tie perfectly knotted, and there was a scowl on his face. This wasn't unusual either, but Sophie knew it was mostly for show.

“Uncle Jenkins!” Cassie squeaked excitedly, bouncing to catch him in an exuberant hug. She kissed his cheek several times.

“Yes, yes, Cassie, hi,” he said gruffly, but Sophie could see he was secretly pleased.

“Hi, Uncle Jenkins.” Parker smiled at him, her eyes lighting up. She wasn't much of a hugger but, when Cassie released him, she did lean over and give him a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Hello, Parker.”

“My turn,” Sophie said, wrapping her arms around her uncle. Uncle Jenkins was a big man, and she remembered, as a child, feeling safer in his arms than in anyone else's. Despite being over seventy, he still felt sturdy and strong against her, and she was suddenly that little girl again. “I've missed you.”

“Yes, well it wouldn't hurt for you to pick up the phone once in awhile,” he grumbled, but his hand patted her back.

Like her sisters, Sophie gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and one more squeeze before she let him go. “I'll try to remember that.”

“Your mother said you're here for the night.”

“She called?”

“Of course she called. And she talked. A lot.”

Cassie laughed. “That does sound like Mother.”

“Do you need help with your bags?”

The bags were in a little pile on the steps where they'd all dropped them. Parker's small backpack, Cassie's tiny pink suitcase, and Sophie's two horribly expensive gray designer bags.

“We'll be fine,” Sophie assured him.

“Then let me show you to your rooms.”

“This place is huge, Uncle Jenkins,” Cassie commented as she picked up her bag and followed him into the house. 

“You're not going to ask if I'm lonely, are you?”

“Why?” Cassie paused.

“Priscilla keeps telling me I am.”

“When have I ever listened to Mother?” Sophie asked, entering last. Her bags were heavy, and carrying them both through the door at the same time was a challenge.

“Good point.” He turned to glance at her and give her the flicker of a smile.

The house was much like its owner, showing its age but sturdy. It possessed old fashioned charm, and Sophie felt welcomed.

“I like it,” Parker announced, contrary to what she'd said at first sight.

“I'm glad you approve,” Uncle Jenkins replied dryly.

The foyer was large and surprisingly bright. A grand staircase led up to the next floor. That's where their uncle headed. 

As Sophie started up the stairs, she had the strange feeling that someone was watching her. She paused to glance over her shoulder. When nothing seemed amiss, she felt a little foolish.

“Sophie?” Cassie asked.

“Coming.”

At the top of the stairs, Uncle Jenkins turned right down a long hallway. The lights were dim and the paper was faded. Antique furniture lined the walls.

“Did these come with the house?” Sophie asked.

“They played a big part in my decision to buy,” he told her before stopping in front of one of the many doors. “Each bedroom has its own bathroom. They were added around the time bathrooms were being brought inside. The plumbing is new, but everything else is not.”

“No showers?” For the first time since they'd arrived, Cassie sounded subdued.

“No.” 

“But a claw foot tub,” Sophie commented, already imagining herself immersed in hot water.

Her uncle tapped on his nose.

“I like baths,” Parker said. “Is this my room?”

“If you wish. I freshened the linens on the beds in these three rooms. Divide them as you like. I'll leave you to get settled. Dinner's in an hour.”

Sophie had forgotten he could cook. The thought of a home cooked meal warmed her as much as the thought of a bubble bath in a claw foot tub. 

“You didn't have to cook for us, Uncle Jenkins,” Cassie told him.

“But we're glad you did,” Sophie added.

He inclined his head before heading back towards the stairs.

Cassie and Parker opened the doors on the right, so Sophie opened the one across the hall. The room had a faint floral scent, and muted yellow curtains fluttered above a slightly open window. A white spread with small yellow rosebuds covered the bed and matched the faded wallpaper. The furniture looked to be as old as the house. Sophie thought the room was enchanting.

She placed her bags at the foot of the bed and went to the dresser. On top were a porcelain pitcher and basin.

“Sophie...” Her name seemed to float on the soft breeze that stirred her shirt. 

She tapped her fingers lightly on the basin, smiling. Her uncle's house was just what she needed to help sooth the turmoil of the past few days.

The bathroom door was right beside the dresser, so she opened it. The room looked just as she'd expected. It was like going back in time. 

The smell of floral perfume was stronger there, and Sophie wondered if the scent came from the clothes detergent Uncle Jenkins used. A towel rack near the tub held a large, fluffy towel, a hand towel, and a facecloth. There were all blindingly white. Her uncle was a bit eccentric, but he was an immaculate housekeeper. 

“Sophie!”

Sophie started at Parker's loud use of her name. She hadn't even heard her sister come into the bedroom. Putting a hand to her chest, she turned and asked, “What is it, Parker?”

“We're going to explore the rest of the house. Wanna come?”

“No. I think I'm going to try to write. You go ahead.”

“All right. See you at dinner.”

One of the pieces of furniture in the main room was a roll top desk. There were pigeon holes along the top, some of them with small carved doors and some of them open, and a nice writing surface. Some long dead woman had probably used it for correspondence. Sophie could almost see her sitting there.

The desk was enough to inspire any muse, Sophie thought as she slipped her laptop case out of the smaller of her bags. She set it on the desk and went to open the window a bit more. The room had grown warmer and the cool breeze felt good.

When Sophie sat in the chair, which creaked a bit, the breeze brushed her face and played with her hair. It brought with it more of the scent Uncle Jenkins used on the laundry, and Sophie realized it smelled like roses—not factory made, approximate rose essence, but like the real thing, like roses plucked from someone's garden.

Smiling, Sophie took the laptop out of its case and opened her latest chapter. She read the two paragraphs before she'd stopped to pick the flow back up and started to type. She was soon lost in her story and in Detective Maxwell, and she forgot where she was or that she'd have to go downstairs soon.

Her writing came to an abrupt halt when one of the small doors, hinged at the bottom, came open. The wooden door made a soft smacking noise, and Sophie glanced at it in surprise. She reached over to close it and noticed something inside. It was thin like paper but not the right texture. When Sophie carefully took it out, she saw it was an old photograph.

The picture was of a young, dark haired woman, one who looked a bit like Sophie herself. She wore a white dress; her feet were bare. Her face was devoid of makeup, and it held a soft, wistful expression that touched Sophie's heart. She was standing on the front porch of Uncle Jenkins's house, and her hair was long and loose. Turning the picture over, Sophie read, “Rose, 1973.”

She wondered if this had been Rose's room.

There was a knock on the door, and Sophie glanced over to see a flushed and happy looking Cassie.

“He sent me to fetch you,” she said.

“What are we having?”

“Pasta.”

“Uncle Jenkins's pasta is better than Marco's.”

“Yup,” Cassie agreed.

“Just give me a moment to Save.” 

Cassie nodded and waited. Sophie felt reluctant to get out of her chair. A strange lassitude had come over her limbs. She considered staying where she was to write some more, but her stomach growled and made up her mind to go. She quickly pressed Save and got up, closing her laptop.

“You should see this place, Sophie,” Cassie gushed. “It's amazing.”

“Did you find the lab?”

She shook her head. “I think it's in the basement.”

“Did he say what he was working on?”

“No, but I'm going to ask him.”

Since their uncle was so eccentric, some of his inventions were a little wacky, though most of them were practical. Truth be told, Sophie rather preferred the wacky ones.

Cassie led her down to the dining room, which was at the back of the house. It was huge and contained a table big enough to seat more than one family. It was already loaded with a pot on a warmer, bread, butter, and salad. Four places were set, which looked ridiculous.

“I wonder if he eats all his meals out here,” Sophie commented.

“There's a little table in the kitchen. I think he's trying to impress us.”

Parker came out of the kitchen with two pitchers in her hand. One contained water and the other orange juice. Uncle Jenkins came behind her holding a box of milk.

“We're missing napkins,” he said, looking at the table with a frown.

“I'll get them,” Sophie offered. “Where are they?”

“In the top drawer in the lower column by the sink.”

Sophie went into the kitchen expecting the same journey through time as she'd found in the rest of the house. What she got instead was a fully updated room with granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances. It was almost a disappointment.

She quickly located the drawers her uncle meant and opened the top one. In it were some dishcloths and some meticulously folded cloth napkins. Sophie fished out four, amused that her uncle still used them.

As she closed the drawer, Sophie noticed a flower on the counter about ten feet away. Looking closer, she saw that it was a yellow rose. A dark red liquid was sprinkled across it like raindrops. Frowning, Sophie moved towards the rose. Some of the droplets had started to drip.

The drops looked like blood. Sophie swallowed and told herself that it was probably food coloring. She turned her back on the rose and went into the dining room.

“Uncle Jenkins, do you know anything about the rose on the counter?”

“What?” he asked.

“There's a rose on the counter.”

“You found a rose on the counter?” He looked thoughtful.

“It's yellow and...” She didn't know how to describe what she'd seen.

“Blood?”

“It looked like it.”

“Don't worry about that.” He waved a hand. “They appear from time to time.”

“Appear?”

“Yes. From the house ghost.”

“Ghost?” Cassie squeaked.

“All the best century mansions have them.”

“Is she a good ghost or a bad ghost?” Parker asked curiously.

“I have no idea. All I ever see is the rose...and once a shadowy figure at the top of the stairs. As far as I know, she's harmless.”

“Has she ever done anything scary?” Cassie asked.

“Not while I've been here.”

“I hope I see her,” Parker commented and started filling her plate. She was the first to do so, and the act made everyone remember they had a delicious supper waiting. The subject of the ghost was dropped in favour of the decidedly more real pasta in front of them. Sophie forgot all about the rose.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, and though it seems inconsequential, about three important things are introduced in it. I'm not going to spoil anything by telling you what they are, though. :)

That night, Sophie hummed to herself as she took her pajamas out of her bag. Knowing she was going to be sleeping in an old, drafty house, she'd gone for warmth over luxury and packed blue and white striped flannel.

Since the air outside was getting cooler, Sophie shut the window before going into the bathroom. She was going to have a good, long soak in the claw foot tub and write a love scene for Cole in her head while doing so. The fact that Cole looked a lot like Eliot would probably warm her as much as the water.

Feeling a little flushed even at the thought, Sophie started filling the tub before beginning to undress. As she did, she thought about her uncle's house and wondered who had lived there during its long life. As a writer, her mind was already filling in the gaps, creating characters that almost lived and breathed. One of those characters was the young woman in the photograph. Who was she? Why did she look so sad?

Just as Sophie was about to get in the tub, the room grew decidedly colder. She shivered as goosebumps broke out all over her skin. Blaming a draft from the old window, she went over to the small electric radiator and turned it up. A thin trail of heat came from it but not enough to dispel the sudden chill.

Hoping the heater would warm the room while she was in the bath, Sophie hurried over to the tub, shut off the water, and climbed in. The water was hot, hot, hot, and it felt glorious as she sank down.

Her whole body hummed as the heat worked itself into her, warming her from the outside in. Sophie leaned back against the angled porcelain and closed her eyes. Instead of thinking about Cole—or even Eliot—as she'd planned, her mind continued playing with the characters she'd created to inhibit Uncle Jenkins's house.

It would make quite a story, she thought, sinking further into the water. Four or five generations caught up in the turbulence of the Twentieth Century. Wars, the Depression, free love. Pain, pain, and more pain. Maybe some joy. Home births. Home deaths. Women trying to survive in a smothering patriarchy. The rise of feminism. Laughter. Tears. Love. Mother to daughter. Wife to husband.

What would Flynn say if she put her Cole Maxwell book on hold to write about this house? He'd probably have a fit...and then he'd support her. He always did. 

The story wove itself through Sophie's mind, and she knew she'd have to start it as soon as she got out of the tub.

Though her body was warm and cozy, Sophie's nose was still cold, and she knew leaving the water would be torture. She wished she could stay in the tub forever. This thought was just going through her mind when the light went out. Sophie blinked in surprise at the sudden darkness. 

Excited voices erupted from across the hallway, showing that Sophie's bathroom wasn't the only room without a light. Cassie's high voice came as squeaks without words through the sturdy walls..

Sophie sighed, realizing her bath was over, and pulled the plug. She was attacked by cool air as she rose, but it wasn't as chilly as it had been when she got in.

Since they were in a secluded place, no outside lights shone into the room. It was so dark that Sophie felt blind. She carefully made her way towards the towel rack using the tub and sink as guides.

“Sophie?” Parker called.

“I'm in the bathroom. I'll be out in a minute.”

“The lights are out.”

“I noticed.” She separated the bath towel from the rest and began to dry off.

“It's dark.”

“I noticed that too. Is it the whole house?”

“I think so. Cassie went to find Uncle Jenkins.”

“Give me a moment to dress, and we'll join them.”

“Okay.”

Sophie realized she'd left her clothes somewhere on the other side of the room.

“Damn,” she mumbled, hanging her towel up and putting her hand against the wall. Going slowly, she followed it, wincing when she banged her knee against the toilet.

“What are you doing in there?” Parker asked.

“Trying to find my clothes,” she admitted.

“Want some help?”

“No, Parker. I'm fine.”

She was relieved when her bare foot came down on flannel and hurried to pull on her underwear and pajamas. Using the tub to navigate, she crossed the room and opened the door.

“Parker?”

Sophie gasped as a hand brushed her stomach. “I'm right here.”

“It's as dark as sin in here.”

“How dark is that?”

“You see it.”

Parker sounded amused as she said, “No, I don't.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Come on, Parker.” Finding her sister's hand in the darkness, she took it and squeezed. “Let's go find Cassie and Uncle Jenkins.”

“Do you think the lights will come back on?”

“I hope so. I know you like to skulk in the dark, but I despise it.”

“I'm a star but you're a flower.”

Sophie stopped, startled. “What?”

“Something Uncle Jenkins said once. I'm a star and you're a flower and Cassie is sunshine. I'm not sure what he meant.”

Sophie felt her way through the door and into the hallway. “Both you and he think too much. Here, we'll follow the wall until we get to the stairs.”

“Okay.”

With all the antiques in the way, it was difficult journey. By the time they got to the stairs, Sophie saw a glow coming from the bottom floor.

“Hello?” she called.

“Sophie?” The glow moved.

“We're coming down.”

“Uncle Jenkins has gone to find more candles and maybe some flashlights.” The glow moved again, and this time it illuminated Cassie's face.

“Does he know what happened?” Sophie loosed Parker and started down, her hand gripping the wooden railing.

“He thinks a wire fell. He used my cell to call the power company. They'll be by to check it in the morning.”

Sophie grimaced. “We're in for a cool night.”

It was still early spring and, even though the days were getting warmer, there was still a definite chill to the nights.

“Uncle Jenkins is going to light a fire in the sitting room. We can stay in there until we go to bed. There are extra blankets in the linen closet for later.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Cassie was a little more visible in the halo of her candle. She looked excited rather than frightened. Noises came from further back in the house,. Sophie assumed they were being made by her uncle as he looked for candles and torches.

Parker and Sophie followed Cassie's candle through the house and into a storage room off of the kitchen. Inside, Uncle Jenkins was looking through a box. On one of the shelves, he had lined up five candles and a torch. There was another torch in his hand.

“How are you making out?” Sophie asked.

He turned to look at her. “As well as can be expected. I've found some candles, and I'm hoping to find a few more. Unfortunately, there won't be any water until we get power back since this was unexpected.” 

“No water?” Cassie frowned.

“You're not in an urban area now, Cassandra,” he told her. “No shared water line. My water comes from a well brought into the house by an electric pump.”

“Oh.”

“Then I'm glad I've already had my bath,” Sophie said, thinking about how nice it had been to soak her cares away.

He nodded and handed her the extra torch. To Parker he handed the five candles. “Why don't you go and get these lit and set up in the kitchen and the sitting room. We want enough light to see by and a couple of extras for when we leave the rooms. I'm going to go through this box, then I'll be in to light the fire.” He held out an old lighter to Cassie, who took it gingerly.

As they hurried to follow his instructions, Sophie shivered. She had forgotten to pack slippers, and the wooden floor felt like ice against her feet. 

While Cassie and Parker lit the candles in the sitting room, Sophie noticed a writing desk that seemed to be a relative to the one in her room. She went over to see if she could find paper and a pen. She searched the drawers until she found what she was looking for and sat down to write out some of the ideas that were whirling through her mind.

Sophie got lost in her notes and didn't even notice her uncle come into the room until a pleasant warmth licked at her back. She looked over her shoulder to see Parker and Cassie settling down in front of the fireplace. The flickers of the new fire played over their faces, washing them with reds and oranges. Sophie quickly finished up so she could join them. Since she didn't have any pockets in her pajamas, she left her notes on the table and hoped she'd remember them when she left.

Though Cassie and Parker were on the floor, Uncle Jenkins sat demurely on a small loveseat that faced the fireplace. Sophie joined her sisters because it was closer to the fire.

“So, now that we're stuck here in the dark, what are our plans for the evening?” Sophie had no idea what time it was, but it had been almost nine when she went in the tub.

“Sleep?” Uncle Jenkins suggested. 

“At ten o'clock?” Cassie asked, looking surprised.

“Don't let us keep you up,” Sophie hastened to add.

“I'm not old enough that I can't keep up with the three of you.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Do any of you play cribbage?”

Sophie had recently learned to play because she'd found out Detective Spencer enjoyed it, and she longed to play and defeat him. Because she needed people to practice with, she'd taught Cassie and Parker as well.

“As a matter of fact, we do.” She smiled.

“There should be a board and some cards over there in the desk. It would be a pleasant way to wile away the time before bed.”

“I like crib,” Parker said, getting up to fetch what they needed.

“And what will we be playing for?” Uncle Jenkins asked.

“We usually play for cookies,” Cassie told him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Cookies?”

“Chocolate Mint Girl Scout cookies. Those things are addictive,” Sophie clarified.

“Indeed. As I do not have cookies, would peppermints do?”

Parker thought about this as she pulled over a small coffee table to put the crib board on. “I like peppermints.”

“Me, too!” Cassie said, “Where are they, Uncle Jenkins? I'll go get some.” She jumped to her feet.

They spent an enjoyable evening and Sophie realized again how much she'd missed Uncle Jenkins. She felt a little guilty for letting life keep her away so long. At midnight, they decided to retire to their rooms with extra blankets, though Sophie didn't know if Cassie or Parker would get much sleep. Their uncle had promised to show them his lab and everything he was working on once the power was restored the next day.

Sophie went to bed alone, but she woke up before dawn to find a warm body curled next to hers.

“Parker?” she mumbled, recognizing the same vanilla shampoo she used herself.

“Got cold,” Parker mumbled back.

Counting herself lucky that Cassie hadn't decided to join them, Sophie rolled over and went back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Sophie was awakened the next morning by bright sunshine in her face and the sound of men talking outside the window. 

She was lying at a strange angle, her feet hanging off of the mattress. Parker was still curled up beside Sophie, her small form taking up much more room than it should have. Sophie smiled and touched Parker's hair affectionately before crawling out of bed. The floor was still cold on her feet but the room was almost warm.

She went to her bag and dug for some socks. Since the bag rested on the desk chair, her eyes went automatically to the photograph propped up against the side of the desk. She frowned when she saw a yellow rose sitting beside it. Like the one from the night before, the rose was sprinkled with blood.

A little freaked out, she reached out to touch it but was stopped by a shrill scream. The scream belonged to Cassie, so Sophie dropped her socks and once more shoved the bloodstained rose from her mind.

Parker, who slept like a hibernating bear, didn't stir as Sophie raced past the bed and into the hallway.

“Cassie?”

“Sophie, it's Uncle Jenkins!”

“What happened?” She rushed down the corridor to see Cassie at the bottom of the stairs leaning over the crumpled form of their uncle. He was completely still, and his leg was twisted at an odd angle.

“I think he fell down the stairs,” Cassie said.

“Call 9-1-1,” Sophie told her, hurrying down the stairs.

Cassie nodded and went to the phone their uncle kept on a table by the door. Sophie bent to check if Uncle Jenkins was alive. Feeling a pulse, she collapsed to the floor beside him with a relieved sigh. His face was pale, and there was blood on his forehead.

“Maybe Mother's right. Maybe he shouldn't be here alone,” she said softly.

Hanging up the phone, Cassie replied firmly, “He'll be okay. He always is.”

XXX

By the time the ambulance got there, Parker was up. She stood to the side, clutching a blanket she'd wrapped around herself, her face pinched and white.

They watched Uncle Jenkins get loaded into the ambulance and followed it to the hospital. Once there, they were told to wait to hear from the doctor. 

Parker curled up in a small brown chair with her arms wrapped around her legs. She stared out of a tall window with blank eyes. The sun on her face made her blond hair glow angelically.

Cassie, in contrast, began pacing restlessly with her arms crossed and a worried frown on her face. Sophie kept a watchful eye on them both, her chest tight and her stomach in knots. 

It was hours before a young doctor came out to speak to them. He was tall and rail thin with kind eyes.

“Sophie Devereaux?” he asked.

Sophie got up, shaking a little, and went to him. “I'm Sophie Devereaux.”

“He's going to be fine.”

She let out a deep sigh, relief tingling throughout her whole body.

“He'll need someone to stay with him for the next six weeks. He's got a broken arm and a broken leg. We also want to watch him for signs of a concussion over the next twenty-four hours.”

“I work from home,” she said quickly. “I'll stay with him.”

“Me too,” Cassie said.

Sophie glanced at her. “It's an hour into the city.”

“I don't care.”

Parker got up. “I want to stay too.”

“We'll all stay with him then,” Sophie assured her.

“Okay,” the doctor answered. “We're keeping him overnight for observation. You can come and pick him up tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Does he need anything?”

“No. He's resting. Go home and do whatever you need to do. We'll take good care of him.”

Sophie nodded and motioned to Parker and Cassie. Together, they went out to go home and pack.

XXX

Packing for one night had been hard. Packing for six weeks was harder. At least her laptop and all her toiletries were already at her uncle's. Sophie just had to worry about clothes and, conceivably, if she forgot something, she could always come back and get it. That didn't make things any easier.

She was just trying to decide whether she needed to pack a dress or not when her cell rang. She picked it up off of the dresser and saw that it was Eliot. Her chest tightened. Was he calling her about a murder? She'd been planning on going back to the station the next day, but now things were all screwed up.

“Hello?”

“Devereax.”

“Hi, Eliot. How are you?”

“How am I? I'm wondering what the hell's going on, that's how I am.”

Sophie's eyes widened. “Pardon?”

“It's been almost a week. No silly texts. No phone calls at the worst possible time. No extra body on the other side of my car...”

“Do you miss me, Eliot?”

“What? No. Of course not. I'm just checking to make sure you're not dead on the side of the road somewhere.”

She smiled. “You were worried.”

“I didn't say that.”

“I'm fine,” she assured him, “but you're going to not miss me for another six weeks. There's been a family emergency.”

“Is everything okay?” His tone changed.

“My uncle had an accident, and I have to go take care of him. He's fine, but he has some broken bones.”

“Six weeks, huh?”

“Yes, but you can come visit me if you want.”

He snorted derisively.

“You could spend the night.”

“What?”

“There's ten bedrooms,” she hurried to add, though she had been teasing him.

“I'll think about it. I've got to go.”

“Thanks for checking on me.”

“Whatever.”

Sophie was smiling as she ended the call. Talking to Eliot had made her feel better about everything, and she decided packing a dress wouldn't hurt. Maybe the black one, he seemed to like that one. It didn't hurt that it showed off her legs.

She was still thinking about Eliot and smiling as she finished her packing and went to check on her sisters.

XXX

Eliot was sitting in front of his TV watching a war movie he'd found on Netflix when his phone rang. Since it was eleven o'clock on his day off, he considered letting it go to voice mail. He let it ring three times before sighing and putting the TV on mute. Grabbing his phone off of the coffee table, he saw the caller was Devereaux.

“What now?” he answered gruffly.

“Eliot?”

“Yeah, it's me. I thought you were moving in with your uncle.”

“We are. It's just...Well, about that...We have a problem.”

He sat up straight. “A problem?”

“Yes. I could really use your help.”

“What is it?”

He felt her hesitation, could almost see her biting her lip as she considered her words. “We didn't think about how we'd get him in the house.”

“What?”

“We've managed to get him out of the car and into the wheelchair, but we can't get him onto the porch.”

“You've got to be kiddin' me.”

“I wish I were.”

“And you called me because?”

“I didn't know who else to call.”

He was flattered that her first thought had been to call him. It made his voice harsh. “What do you expect me to do from here?”

She sighed softly. “I don't know.”

That sigh did it. He cursed himself but said, “What's the address?”

“Why?”

“I'm going to come get your uncle in the house and then I'm going to build you a damn temporary ramp.”

“What about work?”

“I have today and tomorrow off.”

“It's an hour drive...”

“Dammit, Sophie, do you want me to come help or not?”

“Yes.” She sounded subdued as she gave him the address.

“All right. Keep him warm and comfortable, and I'll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Thank you, Eliot.”

“You owe me.”

For the first time, he heard her normal smile in her voice. “I'll try to find a way to make it up to you.”

XXX

It took Eliot a little over two hours to arrive. He was driving an old, beat up Ford pickup and, even before he reached the house, Sophie could tell he was scowling.

Uncle Jenkins was sitting in his wheelchair by the porch, a warm blanket tucked around his body. Cassie and Parker were sitting on the steps, keeping him occupied with bright chatter. Sophie had been pacing and rubbing her arms, but she stopped when Eliot started up the drive.

She watched as he parked the truck behind her car and got out. She felt a jolt of surprise at the well worn jeans hanging low on his hips and the form fitting gray t-shirt. She'd never seen him dressed so casually. 

“These are the kind of things you were supposed to think of before you brought him home,” was his greeting.

“I wasn't thinking clearly,” she admitted.

He looked into her face for a minute, one of those probing, searching glances that made her so uncomfortable. After a moment that seemed to stretch for hours, he grumbled, “Let's get him in the house.”

She nodded and they started towards Uncle Jenkins, Parker, and Cassie.

“Nice truck,” Sophie commented.

“Jake's,” he replied.

Uncle Jenkins was watching Sophie and Eliot as they approached the steps. His expression was unreadable.

“You must be Detective Spencer,” he said.

“Yes, sir. Dev...uh...Sophie tells me you're having a bit of trouble.”

“Quite right.” He looked slightly embarrassed.

Eliot bent. “May I?”

“If you must.”

Smoothly, and as if Uncle Jenkins and his two heavy casts weighed nothing, Eliot scooped him up in his arms. They should have looked comical with Uncle Jenkins long and more than half a foot taller and having casts sticking out at odd angles, but they didn't. Eliot looked as if lifting large men was nothing new to him.

“Bring the wheelchair up the stairs, Parker,” he said.

Despite her personal misgivings about Eliot, Parker jumped up to do as he asked. She folded the wheelchair and clumped up the steps behind the men. In seconds, they had Uncle Jenkins resettled.

“Thank you,” he said with dignity.

“Any time.” Eliot smiled kindly. Sophie loved that smile. It was rare and usually reserved for children and grieving families, but every time she saw it her knees went weak and her insides turned to mush.

“So, you're going to build a ramp?” she asked, climbing the stairs and ignoring the mushy feeling.

Eliot turned to her, his smile gone. “I thought I'd build it here, if your uncle doesn't mind me taking a piece of the railing out. That way it will be right next to the steps and give him easy access to the front door.”

Sophie glanced at Uncle Jenkins. “Uncle?”

“Whatever you need to do is fine. The railing is going to be replaced anyway.”

“Thank you, Detective Spencer,” Cassie piped up.

Eliot just grunted and replied, “I'd better get started.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh! I completely forgot to acknowledge the people who read this over for me in its first draft form. They are completely awesome, and often do this for me...free of charge. ;) Just being sounding boards for me help me so much, and I am more grateful for them than I can say. **waves to hughville, dustydiamond, and gwenhwyfar1984** If I don't say it enough, Thank you!!

After she got her uncle settled, Sophie found herself spending more time watching Eliot than writing. She wouldn't have pegged him for a builder, but he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. His face was full of intense concentration, and she was intrigued at the way his muscles moved beneath his t-shirt.

She was standing at the sitting room window with a cup of tea in her hands, sipping occasionally, when Cassie came in and said, “Sophie?”

“Hmn?”

“Is Detective Spencer staying the night?”

“What?” She turned from the window to look at her sister.

“He's going to be tired when he's done, and it's a long drive back. Should I make up a room for him?”

Sophie thought about it. “He might find it uncomfortable to stay.”

“I'm going to ask him anyway.”

“Don't be surprised if he says no.”

“I won't, but it's the right thing to do.”

“Okay.”

“I actually came in here to ask you about dinner,” Cassie added.

Sophie placed her tea on a small end table. “I thought I'd make a feeble attempt.”

“Or I could go down the road and get something,” Cassie offered.

Sophie regarded her in amusement. “What are you trying to say?”

Cassie laughed. “That you think cooking is torture.”

“You've got me there,” Sophie admitted. “Bring enough for five.”

“Okay.”

When Cassie left the room, Sophie turned back to the window. She was surprised to find Eliot watching her. He'd stopped working and straightened, his eyes on the window. Sophie lifted her hand in a wave. He waved back, so she opened the window, letting in the cooling late afternoon wind.

“How are you doing?”

“I'm almost done.”

“Cassie's going to get some supper in a bit.”

“You don't have to feed me.”

“She's already planning for you to spend the night.”

“The night?” He raised his eyebrows.

“She doesn't want you driving after dark when you're tired. It's a thing with her. Please accept gracefully.”

Eliot ran his forearm over his forehead. “All right.”

“Aren't you cold?”

“I've been working out here for three hours.”

“Warm?” she ventured.

“A bit.”

“Would you like some water?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll be right out.” She shut the window and picked up her tea. A smile played over her lips, and she realized she was happy to have Eliot there, even for just a little while. Maybe he'd even fuel her muse.

XXX

“So, Detective Spencer,” Uncle Jenkins said as he carefully maneuvered his cast while he ate, “Sophie tells me she's been following you around, helping you on cases.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In case you haven't noticed, my niece is a very beautiful woman...”

“Uncle Jenkins,” Sophie protested.

“...I hope you've been treating her with the respect she deserves.”

Eliot stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. “I'm not sure I understand.”

Sophie felt her cheeks heat.

“Just that I hope you are treating her both as an intelligent woman and as a lady.”

“That's none of your business,” Sophie said, tapping her uncle on his good arm.

“Wait,” she heard Parker whisper to Cassie, “is he asking if...”

Uncle Jenkins turned to Sophie. “A dalliance on your own terms is acceptable. Forcing you into one is not.”

“Eliot would never...” Sophie replied at the same time Eliot said, “I would never...”

“Mr. Jenkins,” Eliot continued, “I would never treat Dev...uh...Sophie with anything but respect. We sometimes butt heads, but I like her, and I won't let anything happen to her.”

Sophie's eyes flew to his face. “You like me?”

“Don't make a big deal out of it. Maybe you've grown on me a little. Like fungus.”

“Fungus?”

He flashed her a rare smile before looking down at his plate. She kicked him under the table. His eyes came back up and he lifted an eyebrow.

“The appropriate response,” Uncle Jenkins stated, “is to tell him that you like him too.”

“After that fungus comment?”

“Sometimes he's mean to her,” Parker said with a scowl.

Uncle Jenkins's eyes went back to Eliot.

“He's not really,” Sophie assured him. “And, remember, he did come all the way down here on his day off to help a man he'd never met.”

“Oh, yes. I must thank you for that, Detective. You've made my life a lot easier for the next six weeks.”

Eliot shrugged. “No problem.”

“How much would you like for your efforts?”

“What?”

“Cost, Detective Spencer. How much will this cost?”

Eliot looked slightly insulted. “I don't want your money.”

“No?”

“I did it because it was the right thing to do. Dinner is payment enough.”

“And you're going to stay overnight, right?” Cassie asked.

He shrugged. “I was planning to get a room at that small hotel at the edge of town.”

“That's silly. There's loads of room here.”

“If that's what you want. Is that okay with you, Mr. Jenkins?”

“By all means. Anyone who would go out of his way to aid a woman in distress deserves a place to lay his head.”

“Cassie's already got your room ready,” Sophie told him.

He met her gaze for just a fraction of a second before saying, “Then I'd be glad to stay.”

XXX

Eliot retired to his room, which was right next to Sophie's, right after supper to get cleaned up and wash the sawdust out of his hair. While he was doing that, Sophie started unpacking and putting her clothes away in the antique dresser. Instead of a closet, there was a large wardrobe, so that's where she hung her dress and the clothes that could wrinkle.

Looking over at the desk, she saw the picture, but the rose had disappeared as Uncle Jenkins had told her it would. Apparently, they always did.

She took out her laptop and placed it by the photograph. Her notes from the night before were with it. She didn't plan on writing until after Eliot left, but there was always the chance she'd change her mind.

“Sophie?” someone said from the doorway.

“Yes?” She turned but there was no one there. Puzzled, she went to the door and looked out. Both Cassie and Parker were in their rooms with the doors open. They were also unpacking. Parker was holding some sort of harness thing. Sometimes she liked to dangle from buildings. It made her happy, so Sophie just let her be as long as the building wasn't too high.

“Did one of you call for me?” she asked.

“Not me,” Parker replied.

Cassie looked up from the colorful flower print dress she was taking from her bag. “I didn't either.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Sophie suddenly felt very warm. She plucked at the front of her shirt and waved it to create a small breeze. “Do you find it warm in here?”

“Uncle Jenkins turned the heat way up because he said there was a nip to the air.”

“He'll roast us all.”

“It feels just right to me,” Eliot commented, stepping into the hallway while rubbing a towel over his hair.

Sophie felt the heat level go up another notch as she stared at him. All he wore was a pair of faded jeans that hung low at his hips. His chest was even nicer than she'd imagined, toned and muscular from either working out or chasing criminals—maybe a little bit of both.

Parker glanced out of her door. “That's because you're half naked.”

Eliot snorted. “Better the top half than the bottom half.”

Sophie didn't know about that. She'd have to see them both to tell for sure.

“We should be glad for the heat,” Cassie said. “Remember how cold it was our first night?”

Sophie shivered and told Eliot, “The electricity was out.”

“I'm not surprised. Old house like this.”

“Uncle Jenkins says she has good bones,” Cassie commented, joining them in the hallway.

“I like it,” Parker piped up, throwing a glare at Eliot.

He raised a hand in capitulation. “What passes for fun in a house with good bones?”

Sophie thought about her uncle. “PBS.” Eliot gaped at her, so she added, “Sometimes we play cribbage.”

“Who wins?” he asked curiously.

“Parker.”

He looked thoughtful. “Crib, I like. How about it Devereaux? You up for it?”

She'd been practicing, and she believed she was. “You're on. What are we playing for?”

“Lunches. Once you come back to work, we each get a free lunch for every time we win. What do you say?”

Sophie's chest tightened. “Once I come back?”

He stilled. “You are coming back, aren't you?”

“Of course, but I wasn't expecting you to acknowledge it.”

He shrugged.

“Well, I accept your deal, Eliot. Be warned, I like my lunches expensive.”

“Don't hold your breath.”

She laughed. “You'll see. I'm smarter than you think I am.”

“I don't think so.”

Her smile dropped from her face because he sounded serious.

“After working with you for two months, I would never underestimate your intelligence. I know how smart you are.”

The unexpected compliment took her by surprise, and she felt herself blushing. She never blushed, but there her cheeks were, heating up like the house's old electric radiators. 

“Oh,” was all that she could say.

XXX

Eliot felt pretty good as he entered his room later that night. The wins had been about even, and Devereaux was both a gracious loser and a gracious winner. Though he wouldn't admit it, he enjoyed spending time with her outside of work.

He shivered as cold air touched his skin. The floorboards felt like ice, and it was almost chilly enough to see his breath. He had been perfectly comfortable downstairs, so he wondered if there was something wrong with his heater.

He pattered across the room, rubbing his arms. In front of the heater, he could feel faint bursts of warmth coming from it. They were swallowed before they could do much good. It was going to be a socks and extra blankets kind of night.

As Eliot grabbed his overnight bag and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed, he couldn't help but wonder how he'd ended up spending the night. Cassie was persuasive, but he had a feeling that the fact he'd missed Devereaux probably played a bigger part in his decision.

Thinking of his beautiful, brilliant, pain-in-the-ass shadow, Eliot couldn't help but smile. Sometimes, she annoyed the hell out of him, but there were other times that he really enjoyed her.

The bathroom was almost as cold as the bedroom had been, and he was reluctant to change in there. Only the fact that his jeans would be uncomfortable to sleep in had him putting his bag on the counter so he could undo them and slide them over his hips.

Before he could reach for his pajamas, his bag tumbled off the counter and onto the floor. Eliot frowned, sure it hadn't been close enough to the edge to do that.

With a grunt, he bent to pick up his things. The bag was chilled to the touch.

“This house is a meat locker,” he grumbled.

Strangely enough, the room seemed to get a bit warmer after that. Eliot wasn't sure if it was because he put on warm socks or because the heater was starting to win the fight, but he liked it.

XXX

“Eliot...” the voice whispered. “Eliot...”

Eliot was at the station, and he had no memory of how he got there. He seemed to be alone. Everything was silent, and most of the lights were out. Dim shadows accentuated the hollow sounds his movements made.

“Hello?” he called, and it echoed back to him.

Frowning, he started forward, wondering what was going on. Crumpled paper crinkled under his feet like leaves.

“Eliot,” the whisper came again, and this time he detected the hint of a British accent.

“Sophie?” he said softly.

He hurried forward, impatiently kicking a fallen chair out of the way. A feeling of dread had started to clench his stomach. The silence was ominous and oppressive.

“Eliot...”

Eliot left the bullpen and traveled down deep, dark corridors. They grew increasingly darker and colder until Eliot was feeling his way around, shivering violently.

A sudden light up ahead made his anxiety grow instead of lessen. It was pale, and he could barely make out a figure in the middle of it.

“Eliot...”

“Sophie?” His voice sounded too loud, and he winced.

Stumbling over something he couldn't see, he forced himself forward. The further he went, the heavier his feet felt.

When the figure became fully visible, Eliot froze in shock. Sophie was standing in a large halo of light and wearing a simple white dress that billowed softly around her legs until it almost reached the floor. The top of it hugged her body, outlining her figure.

The picture might have been a pretty one if it weren't marred by a large red stain. The stain covered Sophie's breasts and her stomach, and her hands were clasped tightly in front of it. In her hands, she held a yellow rose, and the rose was spattered with droplets of blood.

Sophie's face was much too pale, her dark eyes large and pleading. Her mouth didn't move, but he heard her whisper his name once again.

“Eliot...”

“Sophie.” He almost choked on the word. “What'd you do?”

She didn't answer, so he took a step towards her. He could see his breath in the nimbus of light. His body grew stiff with the cold, but he refused to let that stop him.

“Let me help you,” he gasped. The air that filled his lungs felt like nails.

Sophie unclasped her hands and held out the rose to him. Blood dripped from its petals onto the floor.

Unable to stop himself, Eliot reached for the flower. The instant his hand touched Sophie's their skin froze together, and his whole arm turned to ice.

Eliot jerked awake, shivering. He'd been sleeping awkwardly on his arm, and it had numbed to the point where even the act of jerking awake sent pain shooting through him.

He cursed and rolled onto his back, gritting his teeth. Where the hell had that dream come from? Eliot was used to nightmares—working with the dead did that to a guy—but this was something different.

Groaning, he snapped on the little lamp beside his bed. He blinked as the harsh glow attacked his eyes. They watered, but he could still see enough to pick up his watch. 3:04. Way too early to get up. He'd never get back to sleep. 

That was his last thought before a feeling of warmth and comfort surrounded him and he tumbled into a calm, dreamless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Eliot was fully dressed the next morning when he wandered into the kitchen. He found all three women there, still in their pajamas. Parker was at the table peering into a cereal box with a bowl in front of her; Cassie was waiting impatiently in front of the toaster; and Sophie was sitting on the sideboard with her heels beating softly against the bottom cupboards.

Eliot gaped. He was used to a polished, always elegant—even in jeans and a t-shirt—Devereaux. This woman with slightly messy hair, no makeup, and striped flannel pajamas was something new. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

“Good morning.” She smiled warmly.

“Nice pajamas,” he rasped. Did flannel usually fit curves that way?

She looked down, and he noticed her first two buttons were undone. “They're warm.”

“They look warm.”

“Do you want some breakfast?” She hopped down. “I usually have just toast and coffee, but I might be able to scramble you up an egg without ruining it.”

Eliot remembered Devereaux's first instinct was always to order in. He didn't know how she'd survive out here where no one delivered. “I'd rather not die.”

“You've been talking to my mother, haven't you?”

“Why don't you let me cook breakfast?”

“You?” Her eyes widened.

“Surprised?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“I'm a man of many talents.” He smiled. “Cassie?”

“Yes, please!”

“None for me, thanks,” Parker said, pouring cereal into her bowl as she munched some from her hand.

“Cereal is her favorite food group,” Devereaux explained, moving closer so the scent of cinnamon and vanilla surrounded him.

“How about omelets for the rest of us? Where is Mr. Jenkins?”

“He's in the sitting room waiting for toast.”

“Would he like an omelet?”

“Most definitely.”

“Okay then, go sit at the table with Parker, and I”ll see what I can do about creating something edible.”

For once, she didn't argue, and Eliot went to the fridge to see what he could find. He was pleasantly surprised to see that it was well stocked.

As he cooked, he absently listened to the sisters chat, and a ball of anxiety he hadn't even noticed in the bottom of his stomach began to loosen. Whispers of his nightmare clung to his mind, and it had been so real that seeing Devereaux alive and smiling had been a relief. Even in the warm light of day, it was hard to forget her haunted eyes or the rose that dripped blood.

Eliot was just finishing up the first omelet when he felt someone behind him. Without looking, he knew it was Devereaux. She both smelled and felt different from her sisters and, both because of working with her daily and his attraction to her, his body was attuned to hers.

“Did you want something?” he asked.

“I wanted to peek.” Her body brushed his as she leaned in to see over his shoulder. Eliot almost dropped his flipper.

“Go get your uncle. We'll feed him first.”

“He wants to eat in the sitting room.”

“Then get him a plate.”

“Okay.”

Behind him, he could hear Cassie giggling over something and the loud crunches as Parker munched on her cereal.

The meal itself went quickly. As Eliot had discovered the night before, eating with the sisters was a pleasant experience. Cassie was full of bright, happy talk. Devereaux interacted differently with her sisters than she did with the rest of the world, and Eliot realized he was seeing more of the real her when she was with them. Parker was Parker, but Eliot found even she was starting to grow on him despite the face that she still didn't seem to like him.

After they were done, Cassie thanked him with a brief hug before gathering the dishes.

“I think I'll head out,” he told Devereaux when she also thanked him for breakfast. Her thank you was in words.

“It's only ten am.” She sounded reluctant for him to go.

“I've got to return Jake's truck.” If not for that, he might have been tempted to spend the day with them. “Besides, shouldn't you be writing?”

Devereaux let out a long sigh. “Now you sound like Flynn.”

“Maybe he's right.”

Her eyes suddenly got distant. “Maybe.”

He studied her face for just a little longer before he forced himself to go upstairs and get his stuff. When he got back down, Parker and Cassie were both still in the kitchen, but Devereaux was waiting by the front door for him. She'd put on big fuzzy slippers and thrown a thin jacket over her pajamas. She looked so unlike herself that Eliot paused halfway down the stairs. He wondered if this was the woman she was when she was alone, comfortable enough in her own skin to wear pajamas and an old coat as if they were evening wear.

“What?”

“Will you be warm enough in that?” was all he could think to say.

“It's not that cold out. In Britain, this would be summer.”

Eliot shrugged and threw his bag over his shoulder. He clumped the rest of the way down the stairs, and Devereaux held the door open for him. He brushed by her, enjoying it way too much. She followed him out onto the porch, closing the door behind her.

“I can't thank you enough,” she said.

He glanced at her.

“For coming to help. For the ramp. For breakfast.”

“A good man helps when he can,” Eliot automatically echoed words his mama had repeated over and over to him and Jake when they were boys.

“I appreciate it. Cassie thinks you're some kind of hero.”

“And Parker?”

She laughed lightly. “Parker will keep you humble.”

“If you need any more help with your uncle, let me know. I'll make the trip out if I can.”

She placed her fingers briefly on his wrist. “Thank you.”

He nodded and climbed down the steps before he said or did anything he'd regret. She was his partner. They worked together. The problem was, despite the fact that they were as different as it was possible for two people to be, she was also temptation. Annoying or sweet. Stubborn or kind. Lighthearted or brilliant. It didn't matter which Devereaux he was dealing with, they all got under his skin.

He glanced once more at Devereaux before hopping into the truck. She was standing on the porch with her hands in her jacket pockets. Her dark eyes were watching him, and there was a serious look on her face. Eliot raised his hand to her, and she took out one of her own hands to wave back.

A strange feeling came over Eliot, a feeling that told him if he left her here like this, it would be the last time he ever saw her. Blaming this feeling on the dream of the night before, he pushed it away.

Devereaux was right, it was a beautiful morning. The sunshine had already warmed the cab, and he was glad he hadn't worn a jacket. The keys were under the visor where he'd left them the night before, so he put the right one in the ignition and turned. Nothing happened. Eliot frowned and tried again. Same result.

“What's wrong?” Devereaux called.

Eliot opened the door to climb back out. “Battery's dead.”

“Do you need a boost?”

“Got cables?”

“Uncle Jenkins must. He has everything. I'll go ask him.”

She hurried inside while Eliot waited. He couldn't think of any reason the battery would be dead. Jake's truck wasn't new, but it was well kept. It broke down less than Eliot's car.

Devereaux came back out still wearing those fuzzy slippers. There were keys in her hand. “In the car.”

Together, they went over to the white sedan parked in front of a large storage shed. Devereaux handed the keys to Eliot.

“In the trunk?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He opened it to find there was nothing inside but a box of glass tubes.

“Are you sure he said in here?”

“He was very clear.”

“There's nothing.”

She came up beside him. “Oh.”

“Do you think the bang to his head could have scrambled his memory?”

She frowned and bit her lip before saying, “He's been fine up until now.”

“Doesn't matter. Why don't you give me a drive to the nearest hardware store? We'll pick some up.”

She smiled. “Can I get dressed first?”

“I'd really prefer if you did.”

Her smile widened. “All right. Come inside and wait. I won't be long.”

XXX

In the end, even booster cables couldn't get the truck started again. After looking the vehicle over, Eliot was baffled.

“Don't worry, Eliot,” Devereaux said when he came into the house sweaty, dirty, and cursing, “I'll give you a ride into the city. It's the least I can do.”

“It's a two hour round trip.”

“Which you were willing to make yesterday. We'll have some lunch, then I'll take you home.”

“What about your uncle?”

“Cassie has him wrapped around her finger. He'll do whatever she says. He'll be fine.”

Eliot accepted this and went to the bathroom to wash up.

It was two before they finally got on the road. Eliot tried to get Devereaux to let him drive, but she shot him down, telling him it was her car and she wanted to drive for once. He scowled at her but didn't mind giving in.

The hour into the city was the longest time they'd spent alone together when not on a case. It should have been awkward, but it actually felt comfortable. Devereaux chatted companionably about her sisters, and Eliot answered when she asked him a question.

“So what are you working on now?” Devereaux asked about halfway through their trip.

“I got a text from Baird a couple of hours ago. A woman found in a dumpster.”

“Any leads?”

“There wasn't then. I'm sure she'll catch me up to speed in the morning.”

“Will you call and tell me what's going on?”

He thought carefully about his wording before replying, “I thought you were taking a break.”

She glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“You disappeared after the Adam Mitchell case.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“I...”

“It got to you. I get it. You should have told me you needed a couple of days.”

After a pause, she asked quietly, “Didn't it get to you?”

“Hell, yeah. The kid cases are the hardest.”

“But you didn't have to take time off.”

“I've been doing this a long time. I'll tell you a secret.”

Her rigid body relaxed a bit. “What's that?”

“Hardison still throws up when we get a tough case. Kids. Sexual assault. Once there was this pregnant woman...” Devereaux held up her hand so he stopped abruptly. “Point is, tough is tough. You're allowed to be upset.”

“How did you know?”

Because he watched her carefully. After only two months, he knew almost every expression, almost every movement of her body, almost every smile. “I just did.”

“I thought you'd send me away.”

“We had a deal. Remember?”

She just shook her head, keeping her eyes on the road.

“Don't tell Hardison I told you.”

A hint of a smile touched her lips. “Of course not.”

He wasn't one to pry into people's emotions, but he had to ask. “Are you okay?”

She glanced at him again. “About coming back?”

“Yes.”

Instead of giving him a quick answer, she thought about it. “I think so.”

“Then I'll see you in six weeks.”

“Definitely. And you'll call every day to let me know what's going on?”

“Every day?”

“Eliot.”

“All right.”

Their conversation moved on to other things, but he was happy he'd cleared the air with her. He was even looking forward to her coming back to work.

XXX

Cassie was waiting for the wrecker when it came to take the truck away. The tow truck driver was a big, hairy guy with a greasy ball cap and faded jeans. He reminded her a bit of Cooter from The Dukes of Hazard.

His smile was warm enough when he climbed out of his truck. “Good afternoon. I got a call about a truck that won't start.”

“Yes.” She skipped lightly down the steps. Her hands were deep in her jacket pocket, and she was wearing her warmest leggings.

“It's the one right here.”

He followed her over to Jake Spencer's gray Ford and studied it. 

“Detective Spencer got in and tried to start it, but it wouldn't go—not even with booster cables.”

“Let me take a look,” he said, so Cassie handed him the keys. 

Her mouth dropped open when the truck started for him on the first try. “They tried to start it for an hour and couldn't get it to go.”

“It seems to be working fine now. I'll still take a good look at it, if you'll drive it in for me.”

“Me?” she squeaked.

“You got a license?”

“Yes.”

“It's automatic. You'll be fine.”

Cassie had never driven anything that big. “What if I hit something?”

“You'll be fine.” He seemed sure, so Cassie held her hand out for the keys.

XXX

They were in the city when Eliot got a call on his cell phone. Sophie looked at him curiously. “Baird?”

He frowned and looked at the phone. “It says R. Jenkins.”

Sophie felt a flash of anxiety. “I hope everything's okay.”

“Let me find out.” He pressed the screen and brought the phone up to his ear. “Spencer...Hey, Cassie...What do you mean it started? ...You're kiddin' me...Did you give him this number?...Okay, thanks.”

“Jake's truck?” Sophie asked, guessing the gist of Cassie's news from Eliot's side of the conversation.

“It started right up, and Cassie was able to drive it to the garage. The mechanic's looking it over now.”

“It started right up?” Considering how long they'd tried, this was surprising.

“That's what she said.”

“That's strange. At least you don't have to tell your brother you broke his truck.”

Eliot grimaced. “Not my fault.”

“Would he have believed that?”

“Probably not. Listen, if the case doesn't include too much overtime, we'll be down sometime in the next couple of days to pick it up.”

“There's no hurry. We have lots of room in the driveway.”

“It's Jake's only vehicle. As it is, he probably won't give me my car back.”

“Do you want me to ask him for you?” She was unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.

He snorted a laugh but didn't reply as she pulled up in front of his apartment building.

“This is you, right?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“Do you want me to drop you off at Jake's?”

“Nah. I'll get him to swing by and get me in the morning. Thanks for the drive.”

“Any time.”


	7. Chapter 7

Over the next few days, Sophie was able to concentrate on her writing. She spent some time making back stories and outlines and characters for the novel she was considering about Uncle Jenkins's house but mostly worked on her Cole Maxwell book. Distractions were fewer than in the city. Cassie and Parker both had taken vacation time and were spending most of it with Uncle Jenkins, so Sophie had no excuses not to write. She used the old desk and had the picture of Rose propped up beside her. 

Since Uncle Jenkins couldn't cook, and he didn't trust any of his nieces to cook for him, Cassie went once a day to get them something to eat from a nearby diner. With the days so quiet, this was sometimes the highlight of Sophie's day.

She was sitting at the desk typing away one morning when she realized she was more than halfway through her book. It wouldn't be long until she could send her first draft off to Flynn, and he'd stop breathing down her neck. She might even finish it before her time with her uncle was over.

Pleased with the knowledge, she decided to take a break. She clenched and unclenched her hands several times to get the kinks out before standing and stretching. She'd been sitting for several hours, and she groaned softly as her body popped.

Her first stop was to the bathroom to freshen up. She'd started writing right after waking up, and she hadn't bothered to dress, wash her face, brush her teeth, or comb her hair. She grabbed an elastic from the dresser beside the basin and pitcher on her way by because she wanted to put her hair up.

Sophie put her clothes down on the counter by the sink and opened her toiletries bag. The room was warmer than she'd expected, so she wondered if the clothes she'd chosen were too heavy for the day.

Deciding to worry about that later, if or when she was uncomfortable, she took out her toothbrush and toothpaste. Her stomach growled at her to wait (because she hated when her breakfast was tinged with mint) but the bad taste in her mouth urged her to hurry up and brush.

Sophie had just started when she got the feeling that someone was watching her. She stopped and turned, brush sticking out of her mouth, expecting to see Cassie or Parker behind her.

She was alone in the room.

Sure her overactive imagination was inventing things because of its vigorous morning workout, she turned back to the mirror and froze, almost choking on her toothbrush.

There was someone behind her in the mirror's reflection. If she would have been able to move, Sophie probably would have screamed. As it was, she just made a strangled, frightened noise.

The woman in the reflection had dark hair and big brown eyes full of sorrow. Despite being paper pale, she looked familiar, but it took Sophie a moment to recognize the face. Sophie whirled, her mouth still full of toothbrush, to gape at Rose, who looked solid and substantial. 

The ghost was smaller than Sophie would have guessed from the picture, and her hair was darker. The sadness was the same. She wore the same dress, but it was ripped, and there was a long, bloody stain down the front. Sophie couldn't see the wound, but she knew it was there because the stain continued to grow.

Rose carried a rose in her hand. It was yellow and spattered with blood. The blood dripped from it but disappeared before reaching the floor.

After a moment, Sophie was able to come back to herself enough to take the toothbrush out of her mouth and say, “You must be the ghost of the house.”

Rose didn't answer.

Sophie's skin prickled as she waited for the ghost to do something. Anything. Rose just stared, her eyes suddenly overflowing and tears dripping down her cheeks. Then, as suddenly as she'd appeared, she disappeared. Sophie took a quick step back and bumped into the counter. She gripped the edges for support as her knees trembled and her toothbrush clattered to the floor.

Something brushed her wrist and, with a squeak, she sprang forward again and twirled around. Expecting to see she'd touched her bag, she went cold all over when she saw the rose on the counter. Like the others, it was stained with blood.

XXX

Sophie was still feeling a little out of sorts when she made her way into the kitchen. Parker was there eating a bowl of cereal and Cassie was making sandwiches.

“Hey, Soph,” Parker said with her mouth full.

Without turning, Cassie said, “I'm making sandwiches for lunch. Do you want one?”

Sophie sat at the table beside Parker. “Yes, please.”

There must have been something odd in her voice because Cassie turned to look at her. Concern went over her face, and her brow knotted. “Sophie, are you okay?”

“I think so.”

Cassie left the sandwiches to come sit across from her, and Parker dropped her spoon heavily into her bowl of milk. It splashed a little.

Leaning forward, Cassie asked, “What happened?”

Sophie took a deep breath before telling them softly, “I saw the ghost of the house.”

“What?” Cassie said, stunned.

“Her name is Rose.”

“How do you know?” There was excitement in Parker's voice. “Did she tell you?”

Sophie shook her head. “No. I found a picture of her. It must have been taken right around the time she died.”

“What was she like? Was she scary? Did her face melt off?”

“Did her face...Parker, you've been watching too many horror movies.”

Cassie laid her fingers against Sophie's wrist. “What was it like?”

“She looked solid. As real as the two of you. And sad. She was so sad.” Sophie remembered the answering sadness she'd felt as she looked into the ghost's eyes.

“So, she wasn't scary?” Parker frowned.

“She was scary enough. There was blood. A lot of it...”

“Over her face?”

“No Parker, not over her face. Over her dress. She was either shot or stabbed...It was quite awful.”

“Did she say anything?” Cassie asked.

“No. Nothing. She just looked at me for maybe a full minute and then disappeared. We were maybe two feet apart, and she was as substantial as you are.”

Parker looked thoughtful. “Did you touch her?”

Sophie shuddered. “No.”

“I wonder what she felt like.”

“I don't want to know.”

“Do you think she'll come back? Do you think we'll see her?”

“I don't know. It's possible.”

Cassie studied Sophie's face. “Are you scared?”

Was she? The ghost had done nothing threatening. She hadn't looked threatening. “I don't think so.”

“Then have some lunch. It will make you feel better.” Cassie got up and went back to her sandwiches.

“You have all the fun,” Parker grumbled as she resumed eating her cereal.

XXX

Sophie felt a little nervous as she sat down at her desk to write after lunch. Instead of thinking of her mystery, her mind kept going back to Rose. Seeing her had freaked Sophie out a little, but it had also made her curious.

Giving up the fight, Sophie closed her laptop and picked up the photograph. She studied it, wondering who Rose was. Why was she so sad? Who had killed her? After seeing the ghost, it was obvious she'd been murdered. Why? What was her story?

Staring at Rose's sad face didn't give Sophie any answers. If she really wanted to know she'd have to do some research. Not that Sophie was a stranger to research, and she had some wonderful contacts to help make that research easier. She felt just a tiny flicker of guilt for turning her back on her novel again, if even for a few days, when Flynn was waiting so patiently. She'd decided to put the house's fictional story on hold until after Maxwell's first book was finished, but finding out about Rose was too tempting. Maybe satisfying her curiosity would put her heart back into her mystery.

There was a knock on her door, an Sophie glanced over to see Cassie.

“Are you at an important part?”

“No. I've hit a bit of a block.”

“Uncle Jenkins says to come down and socialize. You've been alone up here for days. He says it's not good for you.”

Sophie smiled. “Who am I to argue with Uncle Jenkins?”

Placing the photograph on top of her laptop, she got up, determined to forget about everything, at least for a little while.

XXX

Later that day, Sophie decided to give her contact at the Times a call. She excused herself from her family, who was watching a biography of Timothy Hutton on PBS, and went to find her cellphone. She thought she'd left it in the kitchen, but it was soon obvious it wasn't there. Frowning, she went on a hunt throughout the house, checking every place she might have been since she'd used it that morning. It wasn't anywhere.

After a half an hour of looking, she gave in and decided to use the land line. There was a chair next to the small table, so she dialed Richard's number and sat down to wait.

It only rang a couple of times before a familiar voice said, “Yeah?”

“Is that any way to answer the phone?”

“Sophie?”

“The one and only. How have you been?”

“Lonely. I miss you, Soph.”

They'd had a brief fling in their early twenties, and Richard always teased that she'd been the love of his life. They were still close and saw each other when they could. “Sorry, Rich. I've been busy.”

“I heard about your adventures with the detective. What's his name?”

“Spencer. It's fun.” She thought of Adam Mitchell. “Mostly.”

“When can we get together?”

“Not for awhile, I'm afraid. I'm out of town taking care of my uncle.”

“That's too bad. Call me when you get back, will you?”

“I promise. Listen, Rich, I need a favour.”

“I thought you might.” He sounded amused.

“I need you to look up anything you can find about a woman named Rose...” she paused, but there was no reply. “Rich?” Nothing, so she tried again. “Rich?”

It was then that she realized the line was dead. In surprise, she pressed the hang up button and held it down. When she let go, there was no dial tone. Hoping something was stuck, she pressed the button several times in quick succession. There was still nothing.

“What the hell?” she grumbled.

As if in answer, there was a great boom of thunder so loud it shook the house, and the skies opened up. It started raining so hard, it sounded as if someone were dropping stones on them from above.

Placing the phone back on the cradle, Sophie got up and went to the door to peer out. The rain was coming down in sheets. She shivered and rubbed her arms. It was time to go find her slippers.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's anyone reading this, I'm sorry that it's taken so long to post the next chapter. I've had a rough couple of week's so it was hard to sit down and do my editing. I'm hoping the next chapter will be quicker.

Eliot and Jake were about fifteen minutes from Jenkins's mansion when there was a crack of thunder and it started to rain. Hard. It rained so hard that Eliot's wipers were almost useless. As he peered out the windshield, he hoped he wouldn't hit anything.

He slowed to a crawl as he drove through the small town you had to go through to get to Jenkins's place. He could barely see people running with their jackets pulled up over their heads. The rain hit the sidewalks so hard it bounced.

“Maybe you should pull in a parking lot and wait it out,” Jake suggested.

“We're almost there,” Eliot told him, slowing down a little more.

The drive from town to the mansion should have taken around ten minutes, but it took almost twenty. Eliot was relieved when a driveway finally appeared out of the rain.

Since Cassie and Devereaux had picked up Jake's truck from the garage, Eliot and Jake had decided to take the day off to fetch it. Eliot had been looking forward to spending more time with his mysterious partner in her natural habitat. The storm was disappointing because it meant he didn't dare to stay too long.

The sky was angry as Eliot parked beside the truck and pulled on the jacket he had draped over the back of the seat. As he and Jake made a mad dash to the porch, it seemed to rain harder.

Reaching the porch was a relief. Eliot was already soaked to the skin, and he felt chilled and clammy. Despite the dreary day, the lights shone from the windows in warm welcome.

“What is this place?” Jake asked, rubbing a hand over his eyes and flinging water with his fingers.

“I know. Who needs a house this big?” Eliot shook his head, trying to get some of the water out of his long hair. He almost fell off of the step when the door suddenly flung open. Devereaux stood there, looking astonished.

“Eliot, Jake, what are you doing here?”

“We came to get the truck.”

“In this weather?”

“The sun's shining in the city.”

“Well, don't stand out here. You'll catch your deaths.”

She moved out of the way so they could come inside. Jake's eyes widened as gaped at the dignified foyer.

“Was that a car?” Cassie asked, coming into the room. “Oh, hello.”

“Jake, this is Devereaux's sister, Cassie.”

He smiled and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She smiled back and took it. “You, too.”

“You can make friends when we get these guys dried off,” Sophie told her. “It's too cold to be standing around wet like this.”

“It is cold,” Jake admitted.

“You look frozen,” Cassie agreed. “I'll go find some of Uncle Jenkins's things so you can get dry.”

“The bathrooms near the sitting room,” Devereaux suggested. Cassie nodded and scurried away.

Eliot was feeling much better a few minutes later when he was stripped down to his underwear with a fluffy heated towel around his waist.  He'd dried himself off, and the small bathroom was warm and cozy. 

There was a knock on the door.  "Eliot?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Cassie found you something to wear.  You'll probably have to roll up the cuffs and sleeves and tuck in the shirt, but at least you won't be naked." 

"Sounds good.  Come in." 

She hesitated. "Are you naked now?" 

"Nope." 

The first thing she did upon opening the door was run her eyes over him to see if he'd lied.  "Nice look."

"I can keep it, if you like." 

"There are innocent girls in the house," she teased. 

Eliot laughed and reached for the clothes.  Her skin was soft when his hand accidentally ran down her forearm, and he was suddenly surrounded by the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon and vanilla.  He didn't dare to look into her face as he was hit by the urge to touch her more. 

"Well," she said softly, "I should go." 

"Unless you want to see me get dressed." 

"Is that an invitation?"  Her tone was light, but there was something else there. 

Eliot quickly stepped away before he did something stupid.  "Nice try, Devereaux.  You'll have to go somewhere else for your free peep show." 

She laughed and brushed her fingers over his shoulder, sending shoots of pleasure through his body, before leaving him alone. 

In the quiet afterward, when it felt as if all of the life had been sucked out of the room, he told himself that she was his partner, nothing more.  His body didn't seem to believe him.

XXX

“Does he really look just like Detective Spencer?” Parker asked as they waited in the sitting room for the brothers to join them.

“See for yourself,” Eliot said before anyone could reply.

He came into the room, trailed by Jake, both of them wearing dress pants and dress shirts that were rolled up at the ankle and forearm.

Dressed almost the same, their similarities were even more obvious, the lack of stubble on Jake's cheeks and his shorter hair the only obvious differences. Sophie studied their faces. And their eyes. While the same color, Eliot's were harder and more cynical, while Jake's were warmer.

Parker jumped out of her seat to cross the room. Standing right in front of the brothers, she peered into their faces. After a moment, she said, “It's like he's been photocopied.”

She reached out and touched the end of Jake's nose. His eyes widened, but he didn't step back.

“This is Devereaux's other sister, Parker,” Eliot explained.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she said absently, looking at his face from one side and then the other before continuing, “You don't look as angry as he does.”

Jake's face broke into a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Do you like looking at dead people?”

“It pays the bills.”

“Are you a real doctor?”

“Yes.”

“For people who are alive to?”

“If I have to be.”

“Cool.”

Eliot put his hand on his brother's shoulder. “And this is Mr. Jenkins.”

Jake winked at Parker before moving forward to hold out his hand to Uncle Jenkins. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“You're very polite boys, aren't you?” Uncle Jenkins commented, holding up his good arm. “It's good to meet you as well.”

“I was sorry to hear about your accident.”

“Pure stupidity on my part, I assure you.”

“But he's got us to take care of him,” Cassie said, putting her arm around Uncle Jenkins's shoulders.

“And there are worse things, Doctor Spencer, than being waited on hand and foot by three beautiful young ladies.”

Cassie laughed and kissed the top of his head.

“I see what you mean,” Jake agreed.

“How long will you be staying?” Sophie asked Eliot, moving up beside him. He smelled like rain.

“We should head out as soon as possible. With a storm like this, things could get nasty fast.” There was a big boom of thunder and a flash of lightning as he spoke.

“Are you sure you don't want to wait out the storm?”

“And if it doesn't stop?”

She smirked at him. “You could spend another night.”

A strange expression passed over his face, but he just said, “I don't have anything to wear tomorrow.”

“Clothes wash, Eliot.”

He shook his head. “Gotta work.”

“Oh, thank you for keeping me in the loop, by the way.” He'd followed through on his promise to call every day.

“Don't mention it.”

Cassie was looking a little spooked. “I thought the thunder was done.”

Uncle Jenkins took her hand. “It's just noise, my dear.”

Parker hurried to the window. “I like it.”

“She'd be out there dancing in it if I let her,” Sophie leaned in to confide in Eliot.

“Why don't you?” Eliot asked as the next boom echoed. It was so loud that Sophie started and gently bumped into him. He put his hand at her waist. “Careful.”

Sophie felt her face start to heat. “Thunder sometimes makes me nervous, too,” she explained, making no move to shift away from him.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Something actually makes you nervous?”

“That surprises you?” When the thunder boomed this time, the lights flickered and she groaned. 

“This is a pretty bad storm. Don't be surprised if you lose power again.”

“I know.” She shivered as she wondered what it would be like to see Rose in the dark.

“You okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“You sure?” He studied her face.

“Of course.”

“We should go.”

“Why don't you wait until the thunder stops?”

“Things are just going to get worse. You ready, Jake?”

Jake had been sitting in a chair, talking to Uncle Jenkins and distracting Cassie. He looked over when Eliot called him. “If you are.” He stood and shook both Uncle Jenkins's and Cassie's hands. After, he said, “It was nice to meet you, Parker.”

She turned briefly to wave before returning to watching the storm.

“Call and let me know you got home safely,” Sophie said, touching Eliot's forearm as his hand finally fell from her waist. “The land line is dead, so call my cell.”

“Okay.”

“Come back and visit anytime, gentlemen. The ladies and I enjoy the company,” Uncle Jenkins said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“And thanks for the clothes. We'll return then when we can,” Jake added.

“Don't mention it.”

“I'll walk you out,” Sophie offered, disappointed to see the brothers go.

XXX

Eliot let Jake take the lead because his truck would block most of the storm. The thunder was still booming loudly, and the overcast sky was dark enough to see the bright flashes of lightning.

Eliot thought about how tense it had made Devereaux and how his first instinct had been to comfort her. The memory of the warmth of her against his skin made him scowl.

He glanced back in his side mirror as he threw his car in gear and saw Devereaux still standing on the porch with her hand raised. She looked small and alone, the sadness on her face probably a trick of the dim light.

The thunder and heavy rain continued, though visibility was slightly better with Jake in front of him. They hadn't driven very long before Jake's brake lights came on, and he stopped. He left his truck running—Eliot could see the exhaust—but opened the door and got out. Slowly, he walked to the front of the truck.

Curious, Eliot unbuckled and got out of his car. A sheet of rain hit him, plastering his hair to his head, soaking his already wet clothes and running down his face.

“What's going on?” he yelled, but with the wind, rain, and thunder, Jake probably couldn't hear him.

Since he was already wet, Eliot trudged through the rain and mud past Jake's truck to join his brother. A string of especially nasty curses fell out of his mouth as he realized what he was seeing.

Jenkins's mansion was on an old dirt road that crossed a wide piece of river before continuing on until it hit the main road. In just the hour and a half since they'd passed through the first time—when the river was high—the torrential rains had helped the river break free. When it did, something had broken, and the bridge collapsed. There was no way they'd be getting by until the thing was fixed. 

Eliot cursed again.

“What?” Jake shouted.

“We'll have to go back.”

Jake nodded, and they went back to their vehicles. In his car, Eliot took out his phone to call Captain Ford, but there was no signal. A call would have to wait.

There wasn't enough room to turn around, so Eliot backed up until the road was wide enough, then he headed back the way he'd come. It looked as if he'd be spending the night with Devereaux after all.

XXX

Sophie was surprised to hear Parker call from the window, “They're coming back.”

She hurried over and saw both Eliot and Jake parking in the driveway.

“I hope everything's okay,” she commented.

When Jake and Eliot got out of their vehicles, they already looked as wet as they had the first time.

“You might have to give up a few more pieces of clothes, Uncle Jenkins, at least until I do a load of wash.”

“Of course.”

“I'd better go see what's wrong.”

Thunder rumbled, but it was moving further away and was no longer booming.

Eliot's hand was lifted to knock when she threw open the door. Sophie almost got his knuckles in her face. “Oh!”

“Devereaux.” He took a step back in surprise, bumping into Jake, who grunted.

“Parker saw you coming up the drive. What's wrong?”

“The bridge is washed out.”

“What?” she asked in disbelief.

“The bridge is...Listen, can we come in?”

“Of course.” She moved out of the way. “Wipe your feet on the mat and go to the same bathrooms as last time. If I know Cassie, there will be fresh towels. I'll get you some more dry clothes.”


	9. Chapter 9

Sophie knew she was dreaming. The barriers between them fell too easily; their dance was too graceful. The moment he touched her, she burned, and the burn felt all too real. To feel him against her skin, she was willing to believe in the fantasy, if just for the night.

With gentle hands, he brushed the hair from her face. His fingertips trailed sparks across her cheek, and she closed her eyes briefly at the sensation. 

“I've been waiting so long to touch you,” he whispered.

She could only answer with his name. “Eliot.”

“I want you.”

“I want you, too.”

His rough callouses rubbed across her jaw as he cupped her face, and she thought about how they'd feel trailing across other parts of her body. Sophie shivered in anticipation.

The kiss started out soft and undemanding as Eliot put his hand on her hip and pulled her closer. His body felt as good as she knew it would, hard and warm and unyielding. Sophie slid her hands around his back and up into his shirt, loving the feel of his skin against hers. Eliot groaned at the touch and deepened the kiss.

Fire came alive inside of her as the kiss turned from gentle to desperate.

What followed was a blur of hands and mouths and skin; touching, tasting, loving. Sophie fell into it willingly, letting Eliot take and give her the pleasure she craved.

She'd dreamed of him before, but this was different. Real. Raw. Sophie let go and told herself it didn't matter. Told herself, as before, everything would be the same in the morning.

A small voice in the back of her mind told her it never could be.

XXX

Eliot woke with a start, his body flushed and aching with need. He lay there with the morning sun shining in his eyes and scowled. Sometimes he hated his subconscious. Of all the times for him to have the most erotic dream of Devereaux he'd ever had, sleeping in the room beside hers had to be the worst.

Brushes of hands. Moans. Sighs. Whispers of his name. Her lips on his skin. It had been all too real. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the flush that traveled way down her body, he could still feel her hair brush across his chest. His hands had explored her thoroughly, and his mouth had discovered her skin tasted even better than it smelled.

How was he supposed to face her now?

With a groan, Eliot rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. It was early, and the house was mostly quiet. He wondered if there was anyone else awake.

A good long soak was in order. Maybe with the water a little colder than usual.

As Eliot lay in his cool bath, the images from his dream lost some of their sharpness. He was able to finally turn his mind to other things, like the bad luck he had every time he tried to leave. It was annoying. Trucks losing power for no reason, washed out roads. Not that he was complaining. Being at Jenkins's was almost like a vacation. He wasn't normally gregarious but there was something about spending time with Sophie and her sisters that was almost comforting.

A knock on the bathroom door startled him, and he sloshed water over the sides of the tub onto the floor. 

“Eliot?”

It was Devereaux, and her voice brought flashes of his dream back so clearly he gasped.

“Eliot?” she repeated.

“What?” he growled. What the hell was she doing up anyway? He knew she hated mornings.

“I've brought your clothes up from the dryer. They're on your bed.”

“Thanks.” He felt bad for snapping.

There was a pause and then she asked, “Did you sleep well?”

Something unfamiliar in her voice made him wonder if he talked in his sleep.

“I slept okay,” he answered.

“Good...I'll see you downstairs.”

When he was sure she was gone, Eliot sighed and let himself sink down until his head was completely under the cold water. He stayed there until the need to breathe drove him back to the surface.

His only coherent thought was, _Damn_.

XXX

Sophie felt her face flame as Eliot came into the room. She looked down at her piece of toast but a sudden tightness in her chest and throat made it impossible to take a bite.

The contents of her dream had been running through her mind all morning. The pictures were as clear as true memories. She could still feel his fingers on her skin and his hair tickling her stomach. With the images so sharp, she was afraid to look Eliot in the eye, afraid that he'd know what they'd done all night in her dreams.

“Is anyone else up?” he asked.

She glanced at him. His hair was still wet and loose, but he was dressed. “I haven't seen anyone. Would you like me to make you some toast?”

“I can make my own toast.”

She'd managed to avoid his gaze and was relieved when he breezed by her to the toaster.

“You shouldn't have to.” She turned to watch him. “You're our guest.”

“Who made dinner last night in this very kitchen?” He'd offered and, in self defense, Uncle Jenkins had accepted. It had been delicious.

“Thank you, by the way.”

“Don't mention it.”

She loved the way he moved, she thought, the warmth spreading through her not embarrassment this time. His shoulders were broad, and his t-shirt hugged him like an amorous old friend. The way his jeans fit almost made her lightheaded.

“Cell reception's back this morning,” he said conversationally, pushing the button on the toaster. “I called the station to let Captain know I might be stranded a few days.”

“Cassie will be happy. She wanted to call Ezekiel last night.”

“She's still dating Jones?” Eliot turned and leaned on the counter. Sophie finally looked into his face to see his expression was uncharacteristically warm and unguarded.

Sophie shrugged, surprised she was able to meet his gaze. “She likes him. To tell you the truth, I don't think it's heading anywhere serious. She's spent a few nights at his place, but really they interact more as friends than lovers. I don't think Cassie's figured it out yet. As long as he treats her well, I think it's a good thing. Cassie missed so much after the accident that she's just now starting to catch up.”

“Accident?”

“It's not really my story to tell. If she seems a bit naïve, it's because she spent most of her late teens in hospitals.”

Eliot gave her one of his probing looks and said, “Jones is mostly a good kid. He just needs to get his priorities straight.” Pushing off from the counter, he added, “Mind if I make some eggs to go with the toast?”

“Can I have some?”

“Of course.”

“Then no.” She smiled. 

They were still eating when Cassie wandered into the room pushing Uncle Jenkins's wheelchair a little while later. The old man had a plaid fuzzy blanket in his lap and his broken arm lay on top.

“Good morning, Uncle,” Sophie said, waving her fork at him. “Eliot made you some eggs.”

“Thank you, Detective Spencer.”

Eliot tilted his head at Uncle Jenkins and kept eating.

“I called the town a few minutes ago, and they said the bridge would be repaired on Friday.”

“That's three days from now,” Sophie commented.

“Yes, I know.”

She eyed Eliot over her fork, but he didn't seem too disturbed. At her look, he said, “I needed some time off anyway.”

“Me too,” Jake said, coming in behind Cassie and Uncle Jenkins. “It will be good to spend time with the living for a change.”

Sophie laughed. “I can imagine. Come have some eggs. Eliot made enough for everyone.”

Jake shot his brother a look that Sophie couldn't interpret. Eliot just waggled his eyebrows back, which didn't make anything any clearer.

“Has anyone seen Parker?” she asked, not bothering to pursue her curiosity.

“I think she went out to check out the bridge,” Cassie said. “She wanted to see how bad it is.”

“At least the rain's stopped.”

“I think it's going to be a great day,” Jake agreed, looking out the window.

“We could use one,” Sophie told him, and she meant that in more ways than one.

XXX

After breakfast, Sophie took Eliot on a tour around the property. She did it mostly to prove to herself that she could spend time alone with him without being uncomfortable, but she ended up really enjoying it.

The air was crisp, but the day was sunny. Sophie had on a thin jacket with her hands in the pockets, but Eliot was just in his t-shirt. He had his hair down, and he looked as if he belonged outside. Like that, he didn't look much like her Detective Spencer. His suit was gone, as was his ponytail. This Eliot looked as if he'd never worn a tie in his life. Sophie liked the look; the ruggedness was attractive. The fact that he hadn't shaved that morning made the picture even more wild and appealing.

“How much land does he have here?” Eliot asked as they followed the tree line around to the back of the house.

“Around ten acres, he says,” she told him, looking at the land and not at Eliot. “See there? That used to be a carriage house but at one point it was turned into an apartment. There's stables, too. See? At one time there were at least nine horses. Now the fields are overgrown and the fences have fallen. There's a path that way through the woods. I haven't gone down it, but I've thought about it. Want to come with me? I'm kind of nervous to go on my own.”

He glanced at her. “Nervous?”

“I'm a city girl at heart. That's one of the few things keeping me from packing up and moving into the carriage house. I'd be able to write here, Eliot. No distractions.”

“But?”

“I'd miss the city. And I couldn't leave the girls alone. They're adults but too trusting. I'd feel terrible if something happened to them. And there's...” She trailed off, not really wanting to say that part.

“There's what?”

She shook her head. “Doesn't matter.”

They stepped onto the wooded path, and the day grew darker. Branches were thick above them and, even though the leaves had only just started to grow, they blocked most of the light. Sophie shivered and pulled her jacket more tightly around herself.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Just a sudden chill.”

“It is kinda gloomy out here.”

She agreed with him but kept going down the path anyway. An old bench covered with last autumn's leaves sat underneath a huge tree. Looking closely, Sophie saw there was something carved into it. Curious, she left the path to go look. When she was close enough to make out what it was, she smiled. “Look, Eliot.”

There was a heart, crudely but enthusiastically carved, and inside was the message, “RT loves JM”.

“I wonder who RT and JM were,” she breathed, the symbol touching her romantic heart.

Eliot shrugged. “Seems like a dumb reason to hurt a tree.”

“Eliot! Not dumb. Romantic. She wanted their love to last forever.”

A sudden thought made her cold. What if RT had been Rose? What if, instead of a happy ending, she got death instead? Feeling her heart ache for such a tragic, senseless ending, Sophie reached up and traced the heart. The bark was rough beneath her fingertips.

“Devereaux?”

“Hmn?”

“I lost you there for a minute. You okay?”

“I'm just wondering what might have happened to RT and JM.”

“You don't think they lived happily ever after?”

She lightly slapped his forearm. “Stop teasing me.”

Turning from the tree, Sophie went back to the path. She heard Eliot come up behind her and had a sudden desire to take his hand. She balled her hands into fist in her pockets so she wouldn't make a fool of herself.

They continued on in silence, but Sophie kept sneaking peeks at Eliot. His hands were in his jeans pockets, and he walked with an easy grace. She moved closer and bumped her body gently against his.

“You're taking your forced vacation rather well.”

“I'm enjoying it.”

“Really? You strike me as the type who always has to be doing something.”

He shrugged. “This is something.”

“I guess it...” She stopped talking as their path opened up into a small, walled garden. It was overgrown but bits of green had fought through the weeds and began to grow. “Wow!”

“This will be pretty come summer.”

“But it shouldn't have to fight so hard to exist. Someone needs to clean this out. If I ever did run away from home to live in the carriage house, I'd do it.”

“But you won't.”

“Probably not.”

She walked over to another bench, this one made of concrete, and brushed off the leaves so she could sit down. She looked at the garden around her and sighed.

Eliot sat beside her, not bothering to clean off more leaves. He leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankles. Sophie liked that he didn't feel the need to say anything.

Sophie sat there until her ears and nose started to get cold then she got up. “Ready to go back?”

“Are you?”

“I think so...but I really want this garden to look like it used to.”

“Why don't you hire someone to come out and work on it?”

“I might.” Or maybe she'd work on it herself while she was here. “Come on, I'll show you the carriage house and the stables.”

“Sounds good.”

When he stood, he was a little too close, and she could feel the heat of his body. She wanted to lean in towards him when she had a flash of his fingers trailing over her skin. The thought made her swallow, and she wondered if she'd be able to forget the dream.

He was the one who moved away, heading back down the path. Sophie hurried to catch up, and together they went back through the trees towards the house.


	10. Chapter 10

“Do you think we'll starve to death?” Parker asked as Sophie and Eliot wandered into the sitting room.

Parker, Cassie, Jake, and Uncle Jenkins were sitting around a card table with the cribbage board in the middle.

“There's tons of food, Parker,” Sophie said. “You know we shopped for the apocalypse.”

Parker looked up. “Sophie, you're back.”

“Yes, and I see Uncle Jenkins has roped more victims into his evil game.” She smiled.

“How very droll, my dear,” Uncle Jenkins said dryly, but his eyes were twinkling.

“Who's winning?” She went over and put her arm around her uncle's shoulders. 

“Cassandra and I, of course.”

“This game,” Jake added, fighting off a smile. “We won the last one.”

“Uncle Jenkins, did you know there's a small flower garden at the end of the path through the trees?” Sophie asked.

“Yes. It's a beautiful spot. I've been meaning to clean it out but, with work, I never quite got to it.”

“Do you mind if I work in there when I'm blocked? It might help to get the words flowing again.”

“Be my guest. It could use some loving care.”

Eliot gave her a strange look, so Sophie asked, “What?”

“I was just imagining you in old, faded, and tattered clothes with gardening gloves on your hands and a wide brimmed hat on your head.”

“I could make the look work.”

“I know you could.” He smiled and Sophie felt warmth spread through her chest and downward.

“We could help,” Parker piped up, and Sophie turned her attention from Eliot with difficulty.

“Yeah,” Cassie agreed. “Parker and I are here for five weeks, too. We took the time off. Uncle Jenkins doesn't need us every second of the day.” She turned to him. “Do you?”

“Of course not.”

Sophie thought working in the garden with her sisters was a wonderful idea. “I'd like that.”

XXX

When Sophie took an hour later that morning to go to her room and write, her cursor blinked at her accusingly. She could almost hear it saying, in Flynn's voice, “Where have you been?”

“I'm here now,” she answered it crossly and started to type.

For awhile, the only sound was the tapping of keys and the occasional voice that floated faintly up the stairs. As Sophie typed, her mind flicked back once more to her dream. She let it influence the way she wrote Cole, making him a little edgier, a little sexier. In the story, he was trying to seduce a barmaid into telling her secrets, so she channeled all of her frustrated energy into both of the characters.

She was pleased with how the scene was turning out so she paused to read over the last few paragraphs to see if they read as good as she thought they would. Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash.

“Are you okay?” Sophie called, wondering which of her sisters had broken her basin or pitcher. When there was no answer, Sophie said, “Cassie? Parker?”

When there was still not reply, Sophie frowned and went into the hallway. Both doors across the hall were closed. Curiously, Sophie knocked on Cassie's before opening it. The room was empty, and nothing seemed amiss. She closed the door and opened Parker's. Neither sister was in sight.

Sophie shivered, though she wasn't cold. The bright sunshine had actually made the upstairs quite warm. When she turned to go back into her own room, something in front of Eliot's door made her catch her breath sharply. There, on the floor, was another yellow rose. With the excitement of the brothers being stranded with them, Sophie had almost forgotten about the roses. Like the others, it was a soft, butter yellow, with sprinkles of blood over its petals.

Sophie bent to pick it up and found it was warm to the touch, almost as if it lived and breathed. Blood slid over the petals to drip onto her hand, and it was real and wet. Sophie's stomach clenched, but she didn't let go of the rose.

As she stood there with it in her hand, something began to dawn on her. So far, at least since she'd been there, she'd been the only one to find the roses. She'd been the only one to see Rose.

“Rose?” Sophie said softly, running the fingers of her other hand across the petals, smearing the blood, “Are you trying to tell me something?”

XXX

Eliot, who found he liked making meals for this oddball group of people, went into the kitchen to whip something up for lunch. The enjoyment he got out of working with food and the pleasure he saw on the women's faces when they ate his creations were only two of the reasons he cooked for them unprompted. The other was just as selfish. Devereaux's uncle was the only member of his family who knew how to cook more than the basics. There was no way Eliot would let someone like Devereaux, who seemed proud of the endless amounts of take out—or take away, as she cutely called it—she ate be in charge of what he put into his body.

“Hey, what are you doin'?” Jake asked, coming in just as Eliot was putting a salad together.

“Feeding the masses. What are you doin'?”

“Escaping a documentary on crabgrass. Mr. Jenkins sure takes his PBS seriously.”

“Yup. Wanna help?”

“Sure. What do you want me to do?”

Eliot thought for a moment. “Chop up some tomatoes and cucumbers. I'm going to make some dressing...”

“From scratch?”

“Best kind. There's some bakery 12 grain bread there, too. I think I'll make an elevated club to go with it.”

“You do want them to let you go home, don't you?”

Eliot just grinned and went to the fridge.

“What do you think of Parker?” Jake asked when Eliot started tossing him tomatoes.

Eliot faltered, and a tomato hit the floor by the table with a splat. “What?”

“Parker. She's kind of cute.”

“Have you lost your mind? She's crazy.”

Jake shrugged. “She doesn't seem crazy to me.”

“Trust me, she's crazy.”

“I think she just sees the world differently than we do.”

“Definition of crazy.”

“You're just annoyed that she doesn't like you. She still think you corrupted her sister?”

“Shut up.” Eliot threw another tomato at him, and Jake laughed.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

A cucumber was next. It was still flying through the air when Devereaux stepped into the room. Her eyes widened. “What's going on?”

“Lunch.”

“That's it, Eliot. I'm keeping you. From now on, you're my kitchen slave. Forget about your little job catching killers.”

Jake lifted an eyebrow at Eliot, so Eliot pointed a cucumber at him. “I said, shut up.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Devereaux look down at her hands. She rubbed one thumb against the other palm, and a slight frown touched her face. “Devereaux?”

“It feels as if it's still there.”

“What feels as if it's still there/”

Her face cleared and her expression relaxed. “Nothing. What are you making? Can I help?”

He reached for her hand, absently caressing the back with his fingers. “You sure you're okay?”

She looked at him warily, but just said, “I'm fine.”

He drew her towards him, her hand still in his. “How are you at slicing bread?”

“Better than Parker, worse than Cassie. Why?”

“You said you wanted to help. Jake's making the salad. You could slice the bread.”

“As long as you don't give me a hard time if my slices aren't even.”

“It's your house.”

“I have a feeling that wouldn't stop you.”

He squeezed her hand and let it go. “You'll do fine.”

“It's just bread, people,” Jake interrupted.

Sophie met Eliot's gaze and smiled. Then she turned and went to the bread box. “The grain bread?”

“Yes.” 

Without looking back, she took the proper knife from the magnetic strip on the wall and got to work. Jake was also busily working. Eliot's eyes went from one to the other. When he was satisfied with what they were doing, he took the ingredients he needed from the fridge. He was still aware of the splattered tomato on the floor but decided to clean it up after the food was made. If he were lucky, no one would slide through it and break a leg before then.

XXX

Finding the rose had reminded Sophie that she wanted to talk to her friend, Richard. This time, she had no problems with the phone, and he'd been more than willing to find the information for her as long as she agreed to let him take her to dinner once she was back in the city. Since she wanted to see him anyway, it was an easy bargain.

Sophie was convinced that finding out more about Rose would hep her to figure out why the ghost was trying to get her attention. She wondered if there was anything to be found in the house. Obviously, Rose had lived there—or had at least spent a large chunk of time there. After all, there was the picture—and the carving on the tree. Sophie was almost completely convinced that RT was Rose, so much so that she had given Richard the T to work with.

Since the furniture had come with the house, and she'd found one photograph, Sophie was hopeful that she'd find something else. She decided her next stop would be the attic.

She looked out the window as she hung up the phone and saw the sun had already set. There was no way she was going into the attic of a haunted house in the dark. Rose might not be dangerous, but she was scary enough in broad daylight.

“So, this is where you disappeared to.”

Sophie turned from the window to see Jake standing behind her. She hadn't spent a lot of time alone with Jake. Most of her interactions with him had been short, work conversations over dead bodies. She'd always liked him, though, and she was flattered at how much he liked her books.

As if he'd read that thought, he asked, “How's the book coming?”

“Quite well, actually. There aren't a lot of distractions here. I've hidden my phone in the desk in my room, and I only allow myself to check it once a day.” She smiled. “Would you like a sneak peek at a piece of the first draft?”

His eyes lit up, but he said, “You don't have to...”

“Jake.” She put her hand on his shoulder. It felt different than Eliot's, but it was just as hard. “You're stranded here, and it wasn't even your act of kindness.”

“Does this mean Eliot hasn't even had one?”

“No, he hasn't.”

“Are you sure?”

She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You've always been kind to me. Even when Eliot didn't want me around in the beginning, you stood up for me.”

“How did you...?”

“Eliot.” He looked a little embarrassed, so Sophie released him and turned slightly so she wasn't looking directly into his face. “I'll hook my laptop up to Uncle Jenkins's printer and print you out the first chapter. Try not to tell Eliot.”

“Try?”

“I know how he is.”

“Thanks, Sophie.”

“I just hope you don't hate it.”

“A novel by Sophie Devereaux? No chance.”

XXX

Eliot liked being with Devereaux's family, and he even liked the old house, but he wished it didn't give him such weird dreams. Two nights he'd slept there, and two nights he'd woken wanting to reach for Devereaux. Of course, the dreams were very different, but they both teased him with the knowledge that he liked her more than he'd ever admitted to anyone, including himself. Coming face to face with the things he'd been denying since he'd met her made him uncomfortable.

He wondered if he'd dream again and, if he did, what he would dream. Most of him wanted a dreamless sleep, but there was at least part of him that craved another night with her in his arms.

With a sigh, Eliot pulled his shirt over his head. Getting out of this house would probably be good for his equilibrium. The longer he was there, the harder it was to distance himself from the most annoying—and the sweetest—family in the world. 

When he was stripped down to his underwear, he picked up his pile of clothes and put it in the chair to bring down to the washer in the morning. He reached for the pajamas he'd borrowed from Mr. Jenkins. Eliot actually hated wearing the old man's clothes because they made him feel like a child. Devereaux's uncle, if his clothes were to be believed, had to be almost six and a half feet tall.

Eliot was grumbling to himself when he felt someone standing behind him. He froze. Considering he was in his underwear, there was no one in the house he would want to be there.

“Devereaux?” he tried.

No answer.

“Jake?”

The silence bothered him, so he turned slowly, not knowing what to expect.

His whole body clenched in horror as he saw Devereaux standing behind him. As in his first dream, she was wearing a long white dress, and her face was full of sorrow. That would have been bad enough, but there was a wound in her chest that oozed blood. Her dress was covered in it, and he didn't know how she was on her feet.

“Jesus!” he swore. “What the hell?”

That's when he noticed the features weren't quite right. She was pretty but in a different way than Devereaux. Her eyes were a little bigger, her face a little wider. She was shorter than Devereaux, too. In her hand, she clutched a yellow rose.

Eliot took a step back.

There was a knock on his door, and he heard Devereaux say, “Eliot? Are you okay?”

Ignoring her, he told the young woman, “I don't believe in ghosts.”

“What?” His door began to open. By the time it was open all the way, the apparition was gone.

“I said I don't believe in ghosts,” he said firmly.

Devereaux was staring at him, her mouth open a little.

“I know.” He brought his hand up to rub his forehead. “Weird thing to say, but...”

“Can you tell me this with pants on?” Her voice sounded strangled and her eyes suddenly snapped to his face. 

“Huh?” He looked down and realized he was still in his underwear. With a growl, he said, “You burst in on me, remember?”

“I thought you hurt yourself. I heard you curse. Loudly.”

“It was nothing.”

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Like the not believing in ghosts crack?”

“Listen, Devereaux, I...” He trailed off when he saw her expression change.

Unfolding her arms, she asked, “You saw her, didn't you?”

“Saw who?”

“It's not just me anymore. What the hell is going on?” She started to pace.

“Devereaux...Devereaux...Dev...Sophie.”

She stopped at the use of her first name. “Rose. You saw Rose.”

“Who's Rose?”

“The ghost of the house. She's been showing herself to me lately...leaving me roses.” She swallowed. “Roses full of blood.”

Eliot shook his head. “I don't believe...”

“Well, obviously, she believes in you.” She flopped down on the bed, her elbows on her knees, and her chin in her hands.

“What I saw wasn't a ghost.”

“Then how do you explain it?”

“I don't know.”

“Stop being so logical and sit down. You've got to help me figure this out.”

“Okay. Tell me what's going on.” He grabbed Jenkins's pajama bottoms and pulled them on before joining her on the bed.

XXX

“...so I've got my friend, Richard, researching the house's past and searching for anyone named Rose, especially Rose T, that was connected with it. Tomorrow, I'm planning to search the attic. Uncle Jenkins has lived in the house for over a year and, while he's found a few roses, never as often as I have...and Rose has never appeared to him. Just me. Until now.”

Eliot looked as if he didn't know what to believe.

“Eliot” she put her hand on his knee, “how can you disbelieve your own eyes?”

He frowned. “Say you are right and say she is trying to tell you something...”

“I think she needs our help.”

“But why? Why us?”

“I don't know, but I'm not going to turn my back on her.”

“If she really is a ghost, she's already dead.”

“It doesn't matter.” She stiffened her spine. “You should know that more than anyone.”

He sighed and sagged. “All right. What do you want me to do?”

She smiled and bumped his shoulder—his very naked shoulder—with hers. “I knew you'd help me. Going through the things left from the previous owners will go so much faster with your help.”

“Okay. It's your show.”

“Really?” For some reason, this pleased her.

“Your ghost.” He shrugged.

Her hand was still on his knee so she patted it gently before getting to her feet. “I'll see you in the morning.”


	11. Chapter 11

Sophie woke the next morning feeling optimistic and cheerful. She smiled as she got dressed, looking forward to possibly finding out some information about Rose and to spending the time doing so with Eliot.

When she entered the kitchen, she found everyone there already. They were eating and talking as if they all belonged to the same family. She paused to study them for a moment and felt a surge of affection for each of them.

Eliot looked up and saw Sophie. He paused and smiled, making her stomach flutter. She lifted her hand in a wave and went to the stove where scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage were waiting.

“I'm going to weigh three hundred pounds when you go home,” she commented, pulling a plate out of the cupboard. She almost dropped it when she noticed it was covered with yellow roses.

“Are you all right, Sophie?” Uncle Jenkins asked.

“Did these plates come with the house?”

“Yes. Along with the spread on your bed. Someone who lived here was very fond of yellow roses. There is a beautiful yellow rosebush out in the garden by the far wall. Despite its overgrown state it blooms with exuberant joy.”

“If you want, we'll clean around it first when we get out there.”

“I'd like that.”

Sophie scooped out some breakfast and, since there was no more room at the table, she started eating at the sideboard.

“I'm done, if you want to sit here,” Eliot offered, getting to his feet.

“You don't have to move.”

“Let him be a gentleman,” Uncle Jenkins told her.

“Are you sure you're done, Eliot?”

He held up his plate. It was indeed empty.

“Then thank you.” She brushed by him as she went to take his chair.

He winked at her and took a sip out of the coffee cup that was in his hand.

“You know, I think out of the way life is good for you. You haven't scowled nearly as much as usual since you've been here. You're almost friendly.”

He made a face at her. Feeling satisfied, she sat down beside her uncle.

“Uncle Jenkins,” she said, picking up her fork. “Is it okay if Eliot and I look through the attic today?”

“Certainly. Let me know if you find anything interesting.”

“Have you been up there?”

“Not to do more than bring up my Christmas decorations. The whole attic is almost full of stuff from before I got here, but I'm reluctant to throw any of it away.”

“I'm glad you didn't. There could be treasure.”

“For your sake, I hope there is.”

“Can we play in the attic, too?” Parker asked.

Cassie looked at Sophie, and her eyes twinkled. “I thought we could get started on the garden today, Parker.”

“Oh.”

“I'll help,” Jake offered. “And we'll bring Mr. Jenkins down to watch.” He glanced at Sophie's uncle. “Would you like that, sir?”

“You know, I would. I'm getting tired of sitting here, cooped up in the house.”

“And tired of PBS?” Cassie teased.

“One does not get tired of PBS.”

Sophie laughed. “Especially if one refuses to watch it in the first place.”

“You scoff,” her uncle said, “but it's playing a special on mystery novelists today.”

Sophie paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Am I in it?”

“We'll have to watch it to find out.”

“I'll set the DVR,” Cassie said.

XXX

When Sophie and Eliot stepped into the attic a little while later, she had no idea where to start. The attic was in two parts, two large rooms connected by a door. As Uncle Jenkins had said, the first room was almost full of stuff. Besides the tree and trimmings right at the top of the stairs, there were large pieces of furniture and dozens of boxes. The thing that stood out the most to Sophie was the floor length mirror near the window. It was exquisitely carved and obviously an antique. The carvings were of flowers, enough were roses that Sophie had a feeling the mirror had belonged to Rose.

“Eliot, look,” she said, navigating boxes. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” When he didn't answer, she turned to look at him. “Eliot?”

“It's a nice mirror.”

She huffed. “It's more than a nice mirror.”

Reaching it, she ran her fingers over the carving, enjoying the texture. It was smooth, though time had given it small cracks. Sophie liked the mirror so much, she wondered if Uncle Jenkins would let her have it.

She heard Eliot behind her shifting some things around and knew she should go over and help him. Glancing into the mirror's surface, she was about to turn when she froze. The reflection there was not hers.

Sophie took a step backwards as she looked into Rose's sad face. Her hand went to her chest, and her breath left her in a rush.

“Eliot,” she gasped.

“What?”

“Do you see...?”

“What's the matter?”

“It's her.”

“What are you talking about?”

She heard him come up beside her and turned to look at him. “Rose.”

“It looks like you to me,” he commented.

Sophie's eyes snapped back to the mirror to see her own reflection—looking pale and wide eyed but very much alive—gazing back at her.

“She was there. I saw her.”

“Are you sure you're not just spooked from thinking about her murder?”

“No. She was there.”

“Okay, Devereaux.” He shifted. “Do you know if the window opens? It's a bit warm and stuffy up here.”

“I don't.” That's when she saw the rose on the floor. She quickly gripped Eliot's arm. “Eliot.”

“What now?”

“Look.”

She released him to pick the flower up off of the floor. The motion made the drops of blood start to run and mingle. Sophie was careful not to get any on her hands this time. Eliot eyed the rose warily, but he took it when she handed it to him.

“It's warm,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And spattered with blood.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you're not playing some big joke on me?”

“She's dead, Eliot.” Sophie answered seriously.

His gaze went from the rose to Sophie's face. He paused for a moment before saying, “If she wants us to solve her murder, we can do that.”

He put the rose on top of the nearest box and put a hand on her arm, surprising her. Sophie liked to touch, but Eliot rarely did. His fingers were warm, and the gesture was gentle.

“We'd better get to it,” he said. 

“Yes. You're right.”

His hand left her arm to go over his heart, and he made a dramatic face. “What did you say?”

She laughed as her mood lightened. “Where should we start?”

“Let's start near the stairs and make our way back.”

She nodded and, suiting actions to words, the two of them got to work.

XXX

Sophie and Eliot soon found that the house had been owned by the same family right up until Uncle Jenkins bought it. Because of this, the attic was full of personal items—pictures, wedding announcements, birth certificates, journals, letters. Sophie wished she had time to read it all, but, since she didn't, she organized it by decade and read anything from the sixties or seventies that might have to do with Rose.

She cast furtive glances at Eliot to see if he were taking the whole thing seriously. His rough, hard hands treated everything in the boxes as gently as it if were evidence.

As the day wore on, Sophie began to learn bits and pieces about Rose. Rose's parents had died when she was a baby, and she'd lived in the house with her grandparents. She had been very happy.

“J.M.,” Eliot said abruptly.

“Huh?” Sophie looked up from a letter she was reading.

He was holding up a color photograph. In it were two people, a woman and a man. They were sitting on the front swing, and the man had his arm around the woman, who was obviously Rose.

“Rose and Jamie,” Eliot read from the back.

“May I see it?” Sophie set her letter aside and went to Eliot. He passed her the picture.

“He was quite good looking,” she murmured.

Eliot shrugged. “If you say so. Your ghost looks happy.”

Rose was smiling. She wore a loud striped shirt and tight bell bottom jeans that showed a strip of her belly.

“It suits her.”

“I also found this.” Eliot held out a small leather bound book embossed with Rose's initials. 

“A diary?”

“See for yourself.”

Sophie took the book and settled cross legged on the floor, ignoring the dirt. Eliot left her there in favour of looking through more boxes. Sophie hardly noticed.

For the next hour, she lost herself in Rose's life. Eliot worked quietly around her, and, every once in awhile, she would share bits and pieces with him.

Rose had loved Jamie very much. It seemed as if he loved her back until, near the end of the journal, he started acting strangely and having blackouts. Rose was worried about his health. She also worried that he was secretly seeing someone else. The entries became sadder and full of anxiety until they suddenly stopped.

“I think he killed her,” Sophie commented quietly, closing the book.

“Jamie?”

“Yes.” She hugged the book to her chest. “The man from the last two weeks was nothing like the man in the rest of the book.”

“That doesn't mean anything.”

“He hurt her.”

“Sometimes men hide their anger at first. Did he show any other signs of abusive behaviour?”

“Not that I could see. If Rose would just talk, I'd ask her.”

“Then she wouldn't need us.”

She met his eyes. “Then you believe?”

“I'll go with tentative suspension of disbelief.”

She gave him a small half smile. “I'll take it.”

XXX

When Sophie went into her room that evening to get her laptop so she could keep her promise to Jake, the room was ice cold. Even through her socks, the floor chilled her feet, and goosebumps came to her arms. With a shiver, she rubbed them vigorously and went to adjust the knobs on her heater.

“Sophie...” The voice whispered over her skin. It was so soft, she barely heard it, but it was enough to make her stomach clench. “Sophie...”

“Rose?” she asked and turned, but the ghost wasn't there. The temperature in the room dipped further, and her teeth began to chatter.

Something didn't feel quite right, and Sophie clenched her hands. When the door slammed shut, she jumped. An instant later, the light went out.

Sophie swallowed hard and closed her eyes. She slowly counted to ten, reminding herself that Rose had never hurt anyone before opening them again. It was still dark. Feeling her way along, aided by the moon, she went to the door. When she put her hand on the knob, it was so cold that it burned. Sophie snatched her hand away and covered it in her shirt. Grabbing the doorknob this way, she tried to turn it. It didn't budge.

Sophie felt a slight flutter of panic.

“This isn't funny, Rose,” she said, trying to sound calm. “Let me out.”

The curtains slowly moved to cover the window, leaving Sophie in deep darkness. Trying to turn the handle, she bumped her body against the door hard. Nothing moved, so she tried it again. The flutter got stronger, and she started hitting the wood with her fists.

“Let me out,” she said firmly. “Let me out.”

She pounded harder, and tried the knob again. 

“Eliot?” she called. “Cassie? Parker? Jake?”

The door opened suddenly, and Sophie stumbled into the hallway, her body falling against Eliot's. A flash of relief made her hug him tightly.

He stiffened for an instant before snaking an arm around her. In her ear, he asked, “What was all the noise about?”

After the chill of the room, his breath was extra warm against the side of her face.

“My door wouldn't open,” she mumbled, still holding him. He was solid and comforting.

“It wouldn't? It worked fine for me.” He pulled away to try the knob from both sides. It turned easily. “Was the door stuck?”

“I...I honestly don't know what happened.” She rubbed her arms again, even though she was starting to warm up now she was no longer in the room.

He turned his attention from the door to her. “This has spooked you, hasn't it?”

“A bit.”

He ran his hand down her arm, just a gentle, brief touch, but it did what he intended; it made her feel better.

“What were you doing up here, anyway?”

“Oh.” She'd almost forgotten. “I came for my laptop. I needed to print something off.”

She turned towards the room but hesitated. Without a word, Eliot went in and retrieved the computer for her.

Her face heated, and she said quietly, “Thanks.”

XXX

A few hours later, after they'd gathered in the living room and watched the documentary on mystery writers, Sophie headed back up to her room. She was reluctant to go in; the incident with the door had spooked her more than she'd admitted to Eliot.

Up to that point, she'd been sure Rose would never do anything to hurt her, but this new incident felt different. Malevolent. She hadn't told anyone the door and curtains had shut themselves.

She found herself trembling as she changed into her pajamas. The door was closed, and she felt almost claustrophobic. Beyond, she could hear Cassie and Parker chattering away. There were even the low tones of Jake and Eliot, but she couldn't tell what they were saying.

Sophie paused to listen, her fingers on the buttons. She smiled. It was hard to continue being nervous with the four of them out there. She relaxed a little and, by the time she was in her pajamas, she felt almost comfortable.

When the house quieted, Sophie felt a bit of her nerves come back. Defying them, she forced herself to crawl into bed and turn out the light. She lay there with her eyes closed, her ears straining for any sound. She was so tense, her shoulders began to hurt.

She'd been there for just a few minutes when a soft brush of warm air, almost like a lover's breath, ghosted over her face. It sent a feeling of peace and well being through her body. With it, her body relaxed completely, and her overactive mind became sluggish and content. That was all she needed for sleep to claim her. All of her dreams were good ones


	12. Chapter 12

“...by three o'clock tomorrow.” Uncle Jenkins's voice floated up the stairs to Sophie. 

Even though she'd slept in until ten, she still felt a little groggy. She blamed it on the dreary weather outside. Though it wasn't raining quite as hard as it had the day of the storm, there were still sheets of it, and everything seemed soaked in gray.

Eliot was standing beside her uncle in the foyer, and they spoke quietly as she descended. Eliot glanced up, and a small smile came to his face. He seemed so relaxed here, and, while still a bit cranky, he also smiled and teased. Sophie was starting to realize that the rough, tough Eliot, who she adored, even with his churlishness, was a product of a good man protecting himself from the horrors he saw every day. Somehow, that made her like him even more.

Uncle Jenkins turned in his wheelchair. “Good morning, my dear.” 

“Good morning, Uncle. Did you say Eliot and Jake will be able to go home tomorrow?”

“Yes. I just called to inquire.”

“That's a shame. It was nice having them here.”

“Well, I certainly didn't have to worry about being poisoned.”

“Uncle Jenkins!” She put her hand on his shoulder. “Be nice.”

Eliot gave a short, soft laugh. “He's got you there, Devereaux.”

Her hand went from her uncle's shoulder to Eliot's and she squeezed. “That 'be nice' goes for you as well.”

She let her hand linger because she liked touching him. He made a face at her, which was actually quite endearing, but he didn't pull away.

“Will you be looking through the things in the carriage house today?” Uncle Jenkins asked.

Sophie was thinking about the feel of Eliot against her skin and absently asked, “Hmn?”

“Did you find what you needed in the attic?”

Sophie forced her thoughts back to Rose and shivered a bit when she thought about being locked in her room. She released Eliot and said, “Yes and no.”

“How so?”

“We found out who she was, but we didn't find anything to tell us how she died.”

“You say she looked as if she were shot or stabbed.”

“Yes, but by whom? I think it must have been her lover, Jamie, but I haven't been able to find anything concrete.”

“Maybe your newspaper friend will be able to tell you that. If this Jamie were tried and convicted, it must have been in the paper.”

“That's what I'm hoping for. I think it's very important for us to find out what happened.”

“Why is that?”

“She thinks the ghost is trying to tell us something,” Eliot supplied.

“And you, Detective Spencer, what do you believe?”

“I believe that she believes. That's good enough for me.”

Sophie was touched. “Eliot...”

“Don't go soft on me, Devereaux.”

She hardened her face but she couldn't quite bring the look all the way up into her eyes. “Of course not.”

“And quit teasin' me. Are we searching through junk or not?”

“Just let me get some breakfast first.” Hopefully, she added, “What did you make?”

XXX

The stuff in the carriage house was newer than the stuff in the attic. Even though they searched thoroughly, Sophie and Eliot didn't find anything that even alluded to Rose, either in life or in death. By three o'clock, Sophie was sweaty, grungy, and disappointed.

She wasn't any happier that the skies decided to open up just when she and Eliot were making a dash for the house. They entered the foyer dripping, shaking water from their arms and hair. Sophie's silk shirt clung like a second skin, and her jeans were hard and uncomfortable. The day was mild, and the rain was warm, but the water running in rivulets down her face was annoying.

“Damn,” she swore, pulling her shirt away from her chest. “That feels disgusting.”

“Tell me about it.” He was already taking off his shoes and socks. “Do you know how many downpours I've been in since I got here? Three! I'm starting to think this house has a vendetta against me.”

His words caused a chill to go up her spine that had nothing to do with her wet skin. “Don't say that.”

He frowned. “What?”

“About the house...as if it's alive.”

He gave her a strange look.

“It's just...” She didn't know how to explain the feeling that had come over her. “Just don't, all right?”

“No problem.”

She nodded in acceptance and said, “I'm going up to change. Are you coming?”

“Like I'm gonna stand here dripping on the mat all day. Lead the way.”

Once in her room, Sophie wiped her hands as good as she could on her wet jeans and checked her phone. She was pleased to see there was a missed call from Richard.

Slipping out of her clothes—easier said than done as far as her jeans went—Sophie padded barefoot into the bathroom for a towel. She dialed Richard while she was drying herself and was wrapping the towel around her body when he answered.

“Sophie!”

“Hi, Richard. I saw you called. Did you find out anything?”

“You could say that.”

“What do you mean?”

“How much do you know?”

She settled on her bed, her fingers playing with the hem of her towel. “I've found out quite a bit about Rose, her life though nothing about her death, by hunting through some of the family's possessions in the attic.”

“Her death? Are you sure she died, Sophie?”

She hadn't told him about the ghost. “Almost positive. Why?”

“I'm going to send you copies of the articles I've found. According to history, Rose disappeared. She vanished. Everyone assumed she ran away.”

“So they didn't find her body?”

“If there even was a body.”

“I'm sure she's dead, Richard.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Just trust me on this.”

“Considering the house's history, I'm not going to argue with you,” he agreed.

Sophie stiffened. “What does that mean?”

“Rose isn't the only one. Every forty years or so someone vanishes without a trace. 1855. 1899. 1937. 1973. Four women. All dark haired and dark eyed. That's the only similarity between them. Mary, mother of four, thirty years old, believed to have run off with a traveling salesman. Winifred, seventeen, thought to have gotten lost in the woods in the winter. Her body was never found. Anna. Fifty. Widowed. Believed to have left her grown children to travel back to her childhood home in Canada. And then there was Rose. Twenty-three years old. Beloved by her grandparents but chaffing under their rules. They thought she ran away with her boyfriend. Let's see...”

“Jamie,” Sophie whispered.

“Yeah, Jamie.”

“I think Jamie killed her.”

“It's possible, but nobody else seemed to think so,” Richard told her.

“Did anyone else notice the pattern?”

“Not that I can tell, but if the disappearances are connected, Jamie couldn't have killed her. Of course, it could all be coincidence.”

“Maybe.”

“You don't sound convinced.”

“I will admit, I've been getting strange vibes from this house.” She admitted this, but she still didn't tell him about the ghost.

“I don't know what to tell you, but it's weird.”

“Well, thanks for the info. I'll take a look at the articles.”

“Any time, Soph. Don't forget your promise.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“I won't. Talk to you soon.”

As she got dressed, she thought about what Richard had said. Were the disappearances a coincidence? Had all of the women died? Did this really have anything to do with Rose? Sophie didn't know, but she really wanted to find out.

XXX

Parker was sitting in front of the big window in the sitting room with her feet on the seat of her chair and her arms wrapped around her legs. She looked sad as she stared out into the rain.

“Is something wrong, Parker?” Sophie asked.

Her sister sighed but continued to stare out the window.

“Parker?”

“I wanted to play outside again today.”

“In the garden?”

She nodded. “Cassie and I had fun digging in the dirt.”

As children of the city, neither Cassie nor Parker had much experience with growing things. “You liked it?”

“It was messy but nice.”

“I'm looking forward to getting out there with you.”

Parker looked at her sideways. “You'll get your hands dirty.”

Sophie laughed. “I'll wear gloves.”

“That will work.”

“Where is everyone else?”

She shrugged. “I don't know.”

Parker seemed determined not to cheer up and not to interact. She got like that sometimes, so Sophie accepted it. Coming forward, she kissed her sister on top of the head. “The garden will be there tomorrow.”

“I know. I just feel like moping.”

“I'll leave you to it. Come join us when you want to be with people.”

“I will.”

Sophie found the others in the living room watching a movie. Her uncle was in his chair, Jake and Eliot shared the couch, and Cassie sat on the floor in front of them. There was a bowl of popcorn between Jake and Eliot and, every once in awhile, someone would reach in and grab a handful. Eliot's hair was still damp, and he was wearing Uncle Jenkins's suit again. Even so, he looked good enough to make Sophie's stomach do a little flip.

“What are you watching?” she asked, leaning against the door frame.

“An Indiana Jones marathon is just starting,” Cassie told her, eyes sparkling.

“Indiana Jones? Do you even like Indiana Jones?”

“I have no idea, but Jake and Eliot made him sound fun.”

“Everybody loves Indiana Jones,” Eliot told her, taking another handful of popcorn.

“Shh,” Jake told them. “It's starting.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows at Eliot and asked, “Am I invited?”

It was Cassie who answered, with a laugh. “Of course, silly.”

Forgetting about her ghost for a while and just enjoying being with her friends and family sounded wonderful to Sophie. She carefully went around Cassie and picked up the bowl of popcorn so she could drop into the space between the twins.

“Hey,” Eliot said.

“Relax. I'll put it on my legs so everyone can still reach. 

Doing a fair imitation of Eliot, Jake growled, “Are we watching this or what?”

XXX

After the first Indiana Jones movie, Sophie retired to the kitchen to work on her book. Even though her brain was filled with ghosts, she was determined to finish by the time she went home. She was too close to give in, though she'd much rather watch the second Indiana Jones movie with Uncle Jenkins, Jake, Eliot, Cassie, and Parker (who had joined them at the end of the first one.)

She hadn't been writing long when Eliot entered the kitchen. A small blast of cold air followed him, giving her goosebumps. There was a strange expression on Eliot's face, so Sophie watched him curiously.

“Snack time?” she asked lightly.

He glanced at her. “Yeah.”

He wandered slowly around the kitchen until he got to the magnet that held Uncle Jenkins's knives. His fingers reached out to touch one of them and he mumbled, “I know about knives.”

His tone was a little off, so Sophie nervously teased, “Yes, and we're all glad you do. What are you making for us tonight, Eliot?”

He whirled and glared at her. “You're a grown woman; you can make your own supper.”

Sophie paled. He was completely serious. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Sophie swallowed a hard lump that suddenly came to her throat. “I thought you liked making supper for us.”

“Well, I don't.” He turned his attention back to the knives. Taking one from the rack, he tested its blade and point.

Feeling as if he'd slapped her, Sophie sat stunned in her chair. She had no idea what to say.

Eliot didn't even look at her again. He just put his knife back on the wall and left the kitchen.

XXX

Eliot was suddenly in his room. One moment, he was getting up from the couch to make dinner and , the next, he was lying on his bed, relaxed with his legs crossed and his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

Shocked, he sat up and looked wildly around the room. “What the hell?”

He searched his mind but still could not remember how he got there or how much time had passed. Looking at his watch, he saw he'd somehow lost twenty minutes. His stomach clenched.

Feeling a little wobbly, he got to his feet. Slowly, he made his way to the bathroom and washed his face. As he did, he told himself he'd have to tell the others about his memory loss so he could fill in the blanks.

He went to Devereaux first. When he entered the kitchen, he found her at the stove. She had a pot of water on top and a box of spaghetti in her hands. She frowned as she stared at the box.

“Don't tell me you decided to give cooking a try,” he commented dryly.

She stiffened but didn't look at him. “As you can see, I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself and my family.”

Her voice was tight, and he heard some anger there. Anger and something more.

“Is something wrong?”

She still didn't face him. “No. What could be wrong? I'm sorry for imposing so much on you. As a guest, you should not have been asked...”

“Cut the shit. What's going on?”

Devereaux finally looked at him. Her face was blank, but her eyes were wounded. “I'm just doing what you told me to do.”

He stared at her. “I told you to cook spaghetti?”

Her eyes didn't change. “You know what you told me, and you were right.”

Eliot didn't like the hurt she was trying to hide. His stomach churned at it. “Tell me, Sophie. Tell me what I said.”

She'd been avoiding meeting his eyes, but at his use of her first name, her gaze went to his. “Why are you asking me to repeat it?”

“Because I don't remember.”

Her expression changed. It went from blank to astonished. “Are you saying you don't remember telling me I'm a grown woman and that I could fend for myself?”

“What?”

“You told me you hated cooking for me and demanded I do it myself.”

It was his turn to be astonished. “I would never say that. You know I wouldn't.”

She sighed and dropped her eyes. “But you did.”

“Sophie,” he went forward until he was within touching distance, but he didn't touch her, “whatever I said was a lie. I didn't mean it.”

“Just like Jamie,” she whispered.

“Huh?”

“Jamie. Rose's lover. He started acting strangely and having blackouts. Just like this.” She lay her palm against his cheek. “How do you feel now?”

“Normal. Mad as hell.”

“You look like Eliot now. Sound like Eliot.”

“I am Eliot.”

“And before?”

“You would know better than I would.”

She caressed his cheek with her thumb. “I don't think this is a coincidence.”

Eliot didn't know what he thought, he just knew he hated that his body had gone around saying and doing stuff he didn't mean.

“When will...” Jake's voice trailed off. “Oh.”

Eliot and Devereaux jumped apart, and Eliot's face heated. “Dammit, Jake.”

His brother shrugged. “I was just wondering when dinner would be ready.”

“I haven't started it yet.” At least Jake hadn't noticed anything unusual. “I'll let you know when it's close.”

Jake accepted this with a short nod. “All right. I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

“It's called talking.”

Jake eyed them both. “Yeah, that.”

After Jake left, Sophie said quietly, “She wasn't the only one.”

Puzzled, Eliot asked, “Who wasn't the only what?”

“Rose. They didn't know she'd died. She just disappeared, and she's not the only one. There's too many coincidences.” 

Eliot listened as she told him what her friend had said. She went on to tell him about the newspaper articles Richard had sent her.

“And you think what?” he asked when she was done.

“I don't know yet...but I intend to find out. And if you act strangely again, I'm going to try to snap you out of it.”

“I'd appreciate it.”

She shuddered. “I was almost afraid of you that way. You liked the knives too much.”

“Did I threaten you?” he asked, suddenly worried.

“No, nothing like that.”

“Good.” That was something at least. “I guess I'd better get started on dinner before someone else comes out looking for it.”

“Can I help?”

He studied her as he thought of the two of them moving together in the kitchen. He enjoyed cooking so much—and, honestly, he enjoyed her just as much--that the picture was almost an erotic one, even with both of them fully clothed. He gave in to the image and the temptation of breathing in cinnamon and vanilla. “Why not? Just do as I say.”

“I promise.” Her eyes twinkled and her smile was back. That's when he knew he'd made the right choice.


	13. Chapter 13

When Sophie found herself in another dream where she knew she was dreaming, she had a momentary tingle of excitement. She wondered if Eliot would again be the star.

He didn't appear, so she sighed in disappointment and waited. That's when she noticed the room looked like hers but wasn't. The paper on the wall was sharper, the yellow in the roses fresh and new. Her laptop was missing from the desk. In its place were delicate piles of paper and a pen. The bedspread was the same one she'd been using, but the white dress in the corner was one she'd never worn. That didn't mean she hadn't seen it before.

“Rose?” she said quietly.

There was a brush of warm air across her face that brought with it the scent of roses. An instant later, Rose appeared. Sophie stood to face her, and Rose held up her hand to beckon Sophie forward and left the room.

Slightly frightened, Sophie followed her into the hall. The differences were more pronounced here, but it was still recognizable.

As they got closer to the staircase, Sophie began to hear voices. There were two of them—one was a very upset woman and the other a cold, angry man.

At the top of the stairs, Sophie saw the people arguing. One of them was Rose, very much alive and wearing her familiar white dress. The dress Sophie had seen in the bedroom. The man was the one from the photograph. Though his face was curled into a sneer, he was unmistakeably Jamie.

Sophie glanced at the ghost. “I need to see this, don't I?”

The Rose that was bloodstained nodded and faded away, leaving Sophie alone with the angry couple. She started down the stairs towards them, but neither seemed to see or hear her.

Without a worry of being detected, Sophie felt safe enough to join them in the foyer. Rose had her hands clenched, and her face was flushed. Jamie seemed to tower over her, and his eyes were like ice.

“Jamie, what's wrong with you?”

His only answer was a snarl that chilled Sophie to the bone. There was suddenly a knife in his hand, and he lunged forward.

Rose's eyes went wide as the knife plunged into her chest. She gasped, her face full of hurt and betrayal. When she tired to exhale, blood came out of her mouth, coating her chin and staining her dress. Though Sophie wrote about this kind of thing all the time, she still recoiled. This was horrifyingly real, so real Sophie felt as if she couldn't breathe.

Without a word, Jamie pulled the knife from Rose's chest. The blood from the wound joined the blood from her mouth, and the white dress was coated in it. Without Jamie or the knife to support her, Rose fell heavily. Her body hit the table where Uncle Jenkins now kept his telephone. At this point in time, the table only held a vase full of yellow roses.

The table wobbled and tipped, and the vase of flowers hit the floor just an instant after Rose did. The crash was loud in the now quiet room, and glass flew everywhere.

Roses covered Rose and the floor around her. Her sightless eyes stared at the ceiling, and her blood was staining the floor.

Jamie calmly dropped the knife, his face twisted in hate, and grabbed Rose by the ankles. Without even giving her the dignity of picking her up, he started dragging Rose through the door.

Sophie watched him, still holding her breath. When she woke, she had tears on her cheeks.

XXX

“You're quiet this morning,” Eliot said as all of them except Uncle Jenkins ate their breakfast together the next morning.

“Hmn?” Sophie asked. Her mind hadn't been on what was going on at the table. Instead, it had been forty years in the past, thinking of Rose's tragic death.

“Are you okay?” Cassie asked her. Her brow was drawn in concern.

Sophie waved a hand, trivializing what she'd seen. “Just bad dreams.”

“What about?”

“What else?” Eliot butted in crossly. “This house.”

Sophie couldn't contradict him because he was right. “Did you dream about the house, Eliot?”

“I dream about the house every night.”

The room grew silent for an instant before Parker asked, “What do you dream?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

Sophie leaned forward. “It might be important.”

Eliot shook his head. “I doubt it.” Then his eyes grew sharp. “Is there a reason you think it could be?”

She hesitated, not knowing whether to reveal what had happened or not. Finally she said, “I dreamed about Rose's death.”

Cassie covered Sophie's hand with her own. “It was only a dream.”

“I don't think it was.” Sophie shook her head slightly then impatiently brushed away the hair that fell into her eyes. “It was so real, it seemed more like a memory. I think Rose was showing it to me.”

“Can ghosts go in your dreams?” Parker's eyes widened.

“I don't know, Parker. It would explain why Eliot keeps dreaming of the house.”

“Well,” he amended, “not always the house. Sometimes just stuff connected to the house.”

“Like what?” This was Jake.

“Don't ask.”

Cassie winced. “Bad?”

“Bad enough.” He flicked his eyes at Sophie, and she couldn't read what was in them.

“How did Rose die?” Parker asked.

“Jamie killed her.” Sophie felt the sadness and horror wash over her again.

“Who was Jamie?”

Sophie and Eliot hadn't shared their discoveries. “The man she loved.”

“And he killed her?” Cassie looked shocked.

“Yes.”

“How?”

Sophie watched Eliot's face as she said, “He stabbed her.”

“The blood on her dress.”

“The blood on her dress,” Sophie confirmed, still watching Eliot. If he remembered her mentioning his fixation with knives during his blackout, he didn't show it.

“So, you all believe in this ghost?” Jake asked, taking a bite out of a piece of bacon.

“I've seen her,” Sophie told him, “and so has has Eliot.”

Jake raised his eyebrows at his brother, so Eliot said, “I don't know what I saw.”

“And there's the roses,” Cassie added. “Sophie keeps finding bloody roses.”

“Eliot saw one of those too,” Sophie said.

In the face of Jake's obvious skepticism, Eliot crossed his arms and glared. “I saw something. Ghost. Shared hallucination. Doesn't matter. Devereaux thinks it's real.”

Jake looked him in the eye, and something seemed to pass between them. When Jake spoke, it was to change the subject. “I want to take a walk up to see how they're doing on the bridge. Anyone want to come?”

“I will!” Parker looked excited by the prospect. “Do you think there will be machines?”

“Probably. Anyone else?”

“I think I'm going up to my room to have the longest hot soak of my life,” Sophie told him.

“That actually sounds great,” Eliot said.

“Are you planning on joining me?” she teased.

Her breath caught at the look he gave her and goosebumps bloomed on her skin. It was serious and hot and reached deep inside her body with a deadly intensity. Then he relaxed, and his expression softened until he almost smiled.

“Only if you let me use the shampoo that smells like cookies.”

She threw her napkin at him. “Funny.”

“I love that shampoo,” Parker announced.

“It's grown on me as well,” Sophie admitted. “The only problem is men occasionally look as if they want to eat me.”

Eliot mumbled something that sounded like, “It's not the shampoo.”

“What?”

“I said forget the shampoo. Who's got dish duty?”

Cassie sighed. “That would be me.”

XXX

As everyone dispersed and Eliot went up to have a bath—in his own tub—he thought about what he hadn't told the others. It was so horrifying that he didn't even want to think about it.

By himself, the images came back. Knife in flesh—the resistance, the scraping against bone, the wetness that seeped out around the blade.

He'd had the same dream as Devereaux, only, in his, he'd been Jamie. Eliot had seen it all, felt it all, and he knew that Jamie's hand had been on the knife, but it hadn't been his fault. Though his body had killed Rose, his mind hadn't been in control. It had been shoved to a small corner of his brain where it screeched and cried and pleaded for Rose's life.

The ice that had taken over the rest of Jamie had ignored his mental voice. It coldly hurt Rose, first with words and then with a final thrust of a knife that broke ribs. Eliot had heard them snap.

When Eliot closed his eyes, he could see it so clearly. As Sophie had said, it was like a memory. The gush of blood that spewed out of her mouth had been haunting, and Eliot couldn't get rid of the picture.

If he'd seen it and Devereaux had seen it, did that mean it had really happened, he wondered as he bent down to turn on the facet. If it really had, was what had happened to Jamie related to what had happened to Eliot himself? If it were, could the women staying there be in danger? The thought made him clench his teeth.

If they were in danger, how could he fix it? Was he the one they were in danger from? There were more questions than answers.

As Eliot was lowering himself down into the water, he came to a conclusion that made him lose his grip and fall into the water. It splashed everywhere—again--and he swore to himself absently.

If he were to allow himself to believe that there were such things as ghosts and spirits, and if he could accept that both the apparition he saw and the bloody rose were real, then was it too far of a stretch to think that there might be two entities trapped in the same house?

There were all those missing women. There was Eliot's lost half hour. There was the “other” he had felt in Dream Jamie's body. Rose couldn't have been responsible for everything, especially the events before she was born. It was impossible.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he realized he was starting to believe.

If he were right, and if he believed, he had to go one step further. It was approximately forty years after Rose's murder, and Devereaux was a dark haired, dark eyed woman. She could be the “other's” next victim.

Eliot couldn't let that happen. He couldn't leave her here alone. If the evil spirit thought it could use Eliot, it had another think coming. Now that he knew what it felt like inside his head, thanks to his dream, maybe he'd be able to fight it. If not, he'd tell the others in the house what to look for so they'd be able to protect her from him or from one another.

No one would hurt Devereaux on his watch. Especially him.

XXX

Eliot was in his room getting ready to go back downstairs when he felt someone watching him. Since he hadn't heard the door open and it felt much the same as the last time, he knew what to expect when he turned around.

Of course, there could have been nothing, but his gut told him she'd be there.

And she was.

Now that Eliot was starting to believe, he was able to study her objectively. She looked as she had in his dream, her eyes sad and the blood from the knife wound coating her chest. Strangely enough, her face was clean.

It bothered him that he knew what she looked like when she died, that he knew what it felt to give her the blow that ended her life. It made him want to apologize.

“Hello, Rose,” he said quietly, his voice gruff.

She stepped forward, the rose dropping from her hand to lie on the carpet. She didn't speak but she came so close that he could have touched her if he raised his hand. She seemed to be studying him.

“I know,” he told her. “I know what happened, and I'm on it. I won't let it hurt her the way it hurt you.”

Suddenly, surprisingly, Rose smiled. Her eyes still held the sorrow of her death, but the smile was soft and sweet. She gave a slight nod and brought her hand up to cup his cheek. Her skin was warm and felt alive. It left something wet and sticky on his face.

“Eliot...” Her lips didn't move, but his name whispered around the room.

Rose dropped her hand and turned from him. She took a step away, and in the next step was gone. Eliot knelt and picked up the rose she left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the scenes in this had a few issues that I couldn't quite get the kinks out of, but I hope you still like the chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

The bath did help, and Sophie felt a little better when she went into the sitting room afterward. Uncle Jenkins was there reading, as always the calm in the storm. 

He looked up and, while he didn't smile, his face softened. “Good morning, Sophie.”

“Good morning, Uncle Jenkins.” She eyed the book in his lap. “Wouldn't an ebook be easier?”

“You know I hate those things.”

She did. That's why she always sent him paper advanced copies of her books. “The world's changing.”

“But I'm an old dog, and you know what they say about old dogs.”

She smiled slightly and settled into the chair beside his wheelchair. “You'll never be old, Uncle.”

“It's nice of you to say so.”

“I love you, you know.”

“Are you all right, dear? You don't seem yourself this morning.”

“Just bad dreams.” She lay her head against his shoulder. “I've been dreaming about Rose. It makes me sad. I want to help her, and I don't know how.”

“Sophie, you do know that you don't have to stay here,” he said gently.

She sat up straight. “What?”

“I have Cassie and Parker. If you decided to leave, I wouldn't be angry.”

“I can't leave until I know if I can help her.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm not going anywhere,” she told him firmly.

“And neither am I,” Eliot added, striding into the room.

Sophie's eyes widened. “What did you say?”

Instead of answering her, he said to Uncle Jenkins, “Would it be okay, sir, if I stayed a few more days?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You want to stay?” Sophie asked, still stunned.

He looked at her then. “I've got some more vacation time, and I just called and cleared it with Ford.”

“You want to help me?”

An unreadable expression went over his face, but he just said, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

It was obvious she wasn't going to get any more out of him, at least not now. She let it go and said, “I'm glad you're staying.”

“Me, too,” Uncle Jenkins said lightly. “You have me quite spoiled.”

“When the road's fixed,” Eliot told him, “I plan on going out. If there's anything you need, let me know.”

Sophie jumped up. “Can I come?”

He groaned softly. “You want me to take you shopping?”

She felt her good humour start to come back. “Are you afraid?”

“Hell, yes.”

She rubbed her hands together. “Good.”

XXX

When Jake, Cassie, and Parker got back from their walk, they told Eliot and Sophie that the construction crew expected to be done by five o'clock. The day was beautiful, so they decided to spend the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon in the garden.

Sophie put on her writing clothes, which consisted of an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and put her hair up in a simple pony tail. When she came down the stairs after changing, Eliot grinned at her. Sophie looked down at her comfy clothes and her face heated.

“Cute,” he said.

“Where are the others?”

“You took so long, they went out to the garden without you.”

“Uncle Jenkins?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Him too.”

“But you waited for me?”

His grin dropped. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Concerned by his tone, she asked, “About what?”

“Helping Rose wasn't exactly my motivation for staying.”

“Don't you want to help me?”

“No,” he said bluntly. “I want to protect you.”

“Protect me?” She frowned. “From what?”

“Whatever killed her.”

“It was Jamie. I told you it was Jamie.”

“No.”

“My dream...”

“Your dream lied,” he interrupted.

“No, Eliot. You didn't see it.”

He grimaced. “I had a dream of my own.”

“What?” Her chest tightened. “What did you dream? How do you know it was real?”

“I know the same way you do.”

She didn't know if she believed him. “What happened?”

“I dreamed what you did, but...” He paused and his jaw tightened. “I saw what killed her.”

“I don't understand.”

“There's something else at work here. It's old and it's angry.”

“What did you see?” she whispered. He sounded so sure, so fierce, she knew he was telling the truth. 

“It stole his body...and I think it stole mine.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “The blackouts. His...yours. Oh, Eliot!” A sudden chill filled her arms with goosebumps. She hugged herself, suddenly afraid.

“I'm going to ask Jake to stay, too,” he told her. “If something happens, if I'm not strong enough, he's the only one who could stop me.”

Sophie was still hugging herself when she said, “I thought you weren't sure you believed.”

“I'm not taking the chance.”

“And you think it wants to hurt me?”

“Yeah.” He ran his hand over his stubbled jaw. “If this thing's following an MO—forty years, dark haired women. Blackouts.”

“So what do we do?”

“We fight it.” His tone was quiet. Deadly.

“How?”

“With everything we have.”

She nodded, unable to say anything else. Eliot didn't try to reassure her with words. Instead, he took her hand and squeezed it gently. His skin on hers was comforting, and she fought the urge to hug him. 

After a moment, he asked, “You okay?”

She kept her face expressionless. “Yes.”

“Let's go work in the garden and forget about ghosts for a while.”

“Great idea.”

XXX

Eliot didn't let go of Devereaux's hand until they stepped into the garden. He'd frightened her with his assumptions about the second spirit. It hadn't shown in her expression, but her cheeks had paled and her eyes had darkened. 

The best thing for her to do would be to leave, but he didn't think she would. She loved her uncle too much, and she'd come to care for Rose. There was no way Eliot would leave her there without him. If he went back to the city, the spirit would probably just pick one of the others for its vessel—if that's what his dreams and the blackout were about—and, in that case, he wouldn't be there to protect her.

When he loosed her hand, Devereaux glanced at him. He had teased her earlier that she looked cute, but he'd really meant it. Devereaux was always dressed well, whether she wore knockout dresses or designer jeans and a simple shirt. The sweatpants she wore now were worn and faded, They fit her loosely but couldn't hide how long and shapely her legs were. Her t-shirt was just as beat up and almost thin enough to see through. It was of a soft cotton that hugged her breasts. The effect was casually sexy, and Eliot had to remind himself not to stare.

“What?” she asked, searching his face.

“I'm really digging those pants.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, but she smiled.

The others hadn't quite started working yet. Mr. Jenkins's wheelchair had been parked beside the stone bench, and the ground beside him was littered with all manner of gardening tools. On the bench were a couple of old, stained towels and some gloves.

Cassie and Parker were already on the ground in front of a bush Eliot assumed held the yellow roses. Jake had a pair of clippers in his hands, and he was opening and closing them with a smile on his face. The garden was sunny and warm, though the trees were still dark and gloomy. Parker and Cassie, who had both worn jackets, had already shed them, and they were chattering happily as they began to work.

Jake stopped playing with the clippers and started clearing one of the paths, so Eliot left Devereaux's side to grab another set to help. Devereaux didn't even pause for a towel or gloves before joining her sisters.

“You're doing it again,” Jake commented.

“What?”

“Watching Sophie.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Eliot snorted. “You're imagining things.”

“Am I?”

“Just because...”

“You came all the way out here from the city to help her, you make sure she eats three healthy meals a day, you watch her like your eyes are hungry, I saw her touch you...”

“Shut up, Jake...”

XXX

Sophie was enjoying herself. Pulling and digging weeds was almost therapeutic. Plus, it made her happy to hear her sisters sound so joyful. The garden was like a little bubble of calm and safety and love and friendship.

Her contented musings were interrupted by a shout from Eliot. She turned abruptly to see an irate look on his face. He was standing with his arms crossed, glaring at...

“Rose,” Sophie said quietly.

“I can see her, Sophie,” Parker whispered.

Cassie didn't say anything, but she grabbed Sophie's hand.

“Stop,” Eliot growled, but he didn't sound like himself. “Don't come any closer.”

Puzzled, Sophie let go of Cassie and got to her feet. “Eliot?”

“She doesn't need to know. Stay away from her.”

Slowly, Sophie crossed the garden. Her skin was prickling, and she knew something wasn't right. “Eliot?”

“Is that it?” Jake sounded awed. “Is that the ghost?”

Eliot ignored them both to say to Rose, “I destroyed you once. I can destroy you again. Leave this place.”

The ghost met Sophie's eyes, and there was more than sorrow there. Rose was angry. Determined.

Sophie held her breath and placed her hand on Eliot's arm. It was as cold as ice. At her touch, he looked at her. His blue eyes were so dilated that they were almost completely black. And they were cold. Almost as cold as his skin.

“You're not Eliot, are you?

“What are you talking about?” Jake demanded.

Eliot snarled at her.

“Go away!” Sophie shouted. “Get out of him!”

“Oh, Sophie, do you really think you can make me do anything?” He laughed harshly. Then he shrugged. “I guess it doesn't matter.” To Rose, he said, “Go ahead and show her. It won't change anything.”

“Go now,” Sophie ordered. Her voice shook, so she clenched her hands to give herself strength.

“I will go,” he agreed, “but I'll be back.”

XXX

...Eliot took a step back when Devereaux was suddenly in front of him looking mad enough to rip his head off. Her expression immediately softened, and she reached for him.

“Eliot?”

“What?”

“Somebody tell me what's going on,” Jake said firmly.

“The ghost's gone,” Parker commented.

“Devereaux.” Eliot took her reaching hand. “Why do you all look like the sky's fallin'?”

“Rose came to show us something, and you chased her away,” she said quietly. Her hand was trembling. Looking at her closely, he saw her lower lip was too.

“What the hell?”

“Was my brother possessed?” Jake's tone had grown weaker, verging now on stunned over demanding.

“Yes,” Devereaux told him bluntly. 

“Detective Spencer was possessed?” Parker jumped to her feet. “Cool!”

“Not cool,” Devereaux scolded.

Parker's face fell. “Oh. Okay.”

“It was here?” Eliot asked as their conversation started to make sense.

Devereaux nodded, dropping her eyes to their joined hands. “It didn't want Rose to show us something in the garden.”

“I think I know what.” Cassie spoke for the first time. 

All eyes were suddenly on her. Cassie held up something dirty that at one time might have been white.

“What is that?” Eliot asked.

Parker bent down to study it. “It's a bone.”

“And there's more here,” Cassie added. “I think someone buried a body under the rosebush.”

“Rose?” Devereaux asked, releasing Eliot and going over to inspect Cassie's find. “Eliot, Jake, maybe you should come look.”

“We should advise the authorities,” Jenkins said. He'd been so quiet Eliot had almost forgotten he was there.

“Jake and Eliot are the authorities.”

“Not for here,” Eliot reminded her, but he joined her at the bush. “This is a crime scene. We've got to call it in.”

Devereaux sighed. “Well, at least now Rose might actually get some peace.”

XXX

The authorities couldn't get there until after the bridge was fixed, so, with no heart to keep working in the garden, they all trudged back to the house. As usual, Jake pushed Uncle Jenkins's chair, and Sophie and Eliot hung back behind the others. She walked close to him, taking comfort from his presence despite the fact that the spirit he was sure had killed Rose liked to take over his body.

Everyone was subdued as they entered the house, even Parker, and Sophie, sensitive to moods, could pick up their worry and curiosity.

“We should probably talk,” Eliot rasped.

“Not here,” Uncle Jenkins said quietly. “I have a feeling this is a sitting down conversation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The sitting room's for sitting,” Parker commented.

“My thoughts exactly,” Uncle Jenkins told her.

It took them a little while to settle. Parker took the chair beside Uncle Jenkins's wheelchair. She curled up in it like a child, with her legs tucked beneath her. When Eliot took the small couch, Sophie instinctively sat beside him. She was so close that she could smell the wonderful Eliot-ness of him, a strong, masculine scent that always had her thinking of dark bedrooms and endless nights. These images had been stronger since her dream.

Cassie squeezed herself in next to Parker. The chair was so big it easily accommodated them both. Parker shifted to make room, and they ended up twined together like two trees growing from the same spot. 

Jake made sure Uncle Jenkins was comfortable before taking the last chair in front of the fireplace. He looked grim in a way he rarely did. The last time Sophie had seen that face when he was examining the body of Adam Mitchell.

Eliot, as usual, started out bluntly, “I think Devereaux—Sophie--is in danger.”

“Danger from what?” Cassie asked, fear going over her face. Unlike Sophie, she'd never leaned to mask her emotions.

“There are a few things you don't know,” Sophie offered, glancing at Eliot. He nodded, so she started to tell them everything from the beginning—Rose's appearances, their dreams, what they'd learned about Rose's past, Eliot's possessions. Everything she could think of. Eliot added things here and there. He was so earnest that she had no idea how anyone, even Jake, could doubt him.

When they were finished, Uncle Jenkins said immediately, “If this is true, you've go to leave, Sophie.”

“No, Uncle Jenkins. I'm not leaving you, and I'm not leaving Rose. I've been thinking. Maybe if we get rid of the other spirit, Rose will be able to move on.”

“That's no reason to risk your life...”

“It might just try to kill someone else,” Eliot put in. “Just because its MO is dark haired women doesn't mean it wouldn't switch it up.”

“So everyone here is in danger?” Cassie squeaked.

“I think so. If it doesn't get what it wants. That's why I didn't leave.” He glanced at Jake. “I don't want you to leave, either.”

“Because I'm the only one strong enough to stop you if this goes bad.”

“You got it.”

“So what do we do?” Cassie asked.

“You watch me. You watch Sophie. You watch each other. If someone starts acting weird, confront him. Or, if you're afraid, get Jake...or me, but I'm the most likely to be taken over since it's happened twice already.”

“How do we stop you?” This was Parker.

“Any way you can.”

“I don't like this,” Uncle Jenkins said.

“I”m not letting it run you out of your home, Uncle,” Sophie told him firmly.

“This is hard to believe,” Jake commented.

Eliot studied him, and Sophie appreciated his probing stare being on someone else for a change.

“But I saw what happened in the garden,” Jake continued, “and Hamlet once said, 'There are more things in Heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in our philosophy'.”

“Quoting Shakespeare, Doctor Spencer?” Uncle Jenkins asked with a lift of his eyebrow.

“The original, 1623, version,” he agreed easily.

Sophie looked at him, astonished. “You read Shakespeare?”

“My brother's full of knowledge—and shit—but mostly knowledge,” Eliot commented dryly.

Jake just snapped him a grin before turning serious once more. “I'll stay, if you need me. I have a couple weeks of vacation, even after taking off the last few days.”

Eliot nodded. “Thanks.”

Sophie listened and tried to come to teams with the fact that something might want her dead. She knew that Rose had been trying to warn her, and Sophie wanted to help the ghost find her way home more than ever. 

“So do we just wait?” Cassie asked, breaking Sophie out of her thoughts.

“I think we should do some research,” Sophie replied.

Parker groaned. “You always want to do research.”

“But this research could save my life.”

“Oh. Good point.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Uncle Jenkins,” Sophie asked, plunking down on the chair beside him with her laptop in her hands, “did you pay your Internet bill this month?”

He looked up from the book he had propped in his lap. “Yes. Most definitely.”

She frowned. “I can't get a connection.”

“Are you sure?”

She opened it up and tried again. “Positive.”

“Have you tried my desktop? Maybe the problem is with your laptop.”

“Nope,” Cassie disagreed coming in. “Yours doesn't work, either.”

“Do you think...?” Sophie asked.

It wasn't the first time things had refused to work when they'd needed them. Cassie met her eyes, and it was obvious her sister knew exactly what she was thinking.

“I'm going to town with Eliot later,” Sophie said carefully. “Maybe I'll check out the town library.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“No. You stay here and take care of Uncle Jenkins...” 

“I'm not a child,” he protested.

“...but I think we'll take Jake.”

XXX

After being cooped up in the old house for days, driving into town with Jake and Devereaux felt like freedom. By the time they left the house, the new bridge looked as if it had always been there. All signs of work were gone, and the mess from the storm had all been cleared away.

As Eliot approached the town, he said, “It makes more sense for us to split up. Jake and I will get some clothes and food. I'll drop you off at the library.”

Devereaux was beside him in the front seat. She had been staring out the windshield, but she turned to him when he spoke.

“All right.” There were shadows of worry in her eyes.

“Do you know what you're lookin' for?”

“Absolutely no idea.”

“Good. It should be easy to find then.”

The corner of her mouth tipped up. “Easy as pie.”

“Easier.” He had to take his eyes off of her to watch the road, but he didn't want to.

“There's the petrol station Uncle Jenkins told us to look for,” she said, pointing at a small white building with pumps out front.

“Yep.”

He turned down that street and saw the library. It was an old but well kept red brick building with a cheerful sign out front. 

The lights were off.

“I think it's closed,” Jake said unnecessarily.

Devereaux sighed. “I guess I'd better go check the hours.”

Eliot watched as she got out of the car and strode up to the building. He couldn't help the little half smile that came to his face.

“There's that look again,” Jake commented.

The smile dropped. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Jake chuckled, so Eliot gave him a dark look.

“Hey, Sophie's great. Most women would have run away screaming by now,” Jake continued.

Eliot couldn't argue with that. “Don't tell her that. It will go to her head.”

The door opened and they shut up as Sophie slid back into her seat. “They close at five.”

“Every day?

“Yes.”

“We'll have to come in early tomorrow.”

“There is a bright spot,” she said as she fastened her seatbelt.

“What's that?”

“I get to help you shop.”

Eliot groaned.

“Oh, come on, Eliot.” She reached over and tugged a curl that had fallen into his face. “It will be fun.”

“I think I'd rather face the ghost.”

She laughed.

Once more, Eliot looked at his brother and saw the amusement in Jake's face. “You, shut up.”

“I didn't say a word.”

Eliot grunted and put the car in gear.

XXX

Back at Uncle Jenkins's, a police car and a strange station wagon partially blocked the driveway. Uncle Jenkins was on the porch talking to a man in uniform.

“It seems the authorities are here,” Sophie said. “Now they'll know Rose didn't just run off with Jamie.”

“They're gonna hate opening up a case this cold,” Eliot commented.

“And if they solve it, a man will go to jail for something beyond his control,” Jake added.

Sophie turned in her seat to face Jake. “Do you think he's still alive?”

He shrugged. “It's possible.”

Sophie hadn't even thought of that. “I wonder if we should talk to him.”

“And ask him what?” Eliot scowled. “Do you remember killing Rose?”

“Maybe he could give us insight on the blackouts.”

“He lost.”

“But what if he remembers the fight?”

“Doesn't matter.”

“Jake?”

“Can't hurt.”

Eliot raised his eyebrows. “You think?”

“He could tell us we're crazy...”

“Or he could tell us what it was like. If nothing else, he can tell us what happened afterward.” Sophie was starting to get excited about the idea.

“We might not be able to find him,” Eliot reminded her.

“I know, but I want to try.”

“Okay.”

XXX

That night, they decided a movie night together might settle their unease at sharing their space with not one but two spirits. The living room had a small fireplace, so Eliot lit a fire. Everyone changed into their pajamas and robes, Cassie made hot chocolate, and Jake made three large bowls of popcorn. Eliot was looking forward to relaxing with his friends and forgetting everything for a while—Adam Mitchell, his job in general, his attraction and growing affection for Devereaux, and ghosts who either wanted to save him or possess him.

He glanced up from his fledgeling fire as Devereaux come into the room. She had her laptop in her hands, and she was staring at the screen and frowning.

“Internet?” he asked.

“Still none.”

“And?” There seemed to be something else.

“Feel this.” She came over and held out her laptop.

Eliot took it and noticed it was cold to the touch. “Where did you have this?”

“In my bedroom.” She plucked at her striped flannel top. The buttons gaped a bit and Eliot forced himself to keep looking in her face. “I just got changed in there. The temperature is fine.”

“The house is drafty.”

She shook her head. “I don't think that's it.”

He handed the laptop back to her, and she sat it on the coffee table. “What are you thinking?”

She hesitated, biting her lip.

“Devereaux?”

“When I touched you...when you weren't you...you were cold like that.”

“It could be coincidence.”

“But I don't think it is. I think it's something else to look out for besides odd behaviour.”

“We'll mention it. Later.”

“Later,” she agreed, placing a hand briefly on his shoulder before moving on to the couch.

The other four came in together a moment later. Jake was carrying his last bowl of popcorn, and Cassie had the hot chocolate on a large tray. She was walking carefully. Parker was pushing Jenkins's wheelchair, but she didn't seem to be as skilled at it as Cassie. Even so, the old man had a slight smile on his face. Eliot supposed when you were surrounded by Deveraux and the two Cillian girls, it was either smile or go crazy.

“The fire looks great, Detective Spencer.” Cassie beamed at him.

“It's okay,” Parker admitted grudgingly. Eliot wondered if he'd ever win her over.

He was disappointed when Parker left her uncle's chair and plopped down next to Devereaux because he'd been looking forward to sitting beside her. Jake sat on Parker's other side, his hand already in the bowl of popcorn. The other two bowls were on the coffee table, and Cassie swiped one before getting comfortable in the biggest chair.

With most of the good options gone, Eliot decided to sit on the floor beside Devereaux. His body would probably growl at him when he got up, but it had the benefits of the couch to lean against, the last bowl of popcorn being within reach, and Devereaux being close enough to tease.

“Okay, what are we watching first?” Jake asked.

“ _Guardians of the Galaxy_ ,” Cassie told him.

“My choice.” He smiled.

“Then you get to put it in,” Parker told him, pushing him a bit with her elbow.

“Why didn't you say that before I sat down?”

“And don't forget the lights,” Devereaux added, waving vaguely at the ceiling.

“Anything else?” he asked, and everyone agreed there wasn't.

While his brother was getting things ready, Eliot glanced at Deveraeux. She seemed relaxed, even happy, her face clear of the worry that had been there all too often lately. She caught him looking and smiled at him affectionately. He winked at her, and she winked back.

He was comfortable here with her and with her family. It was nice, but he hoped it wouldn't make things too difficult later. After all, eventually, they'd have to go back to reality, and in reality they were just partners.

XXX

This time when he jabbed the knife, it was into Devereaux's body. One minute, they'd been talking and the next he was plunging a blade up into her chest cavity. Eliot knew about knives, and he knew how to make a stab wound a fatal one.

She made a soft noise of surprise and pain as the blade went in. It was so sharp, it parted her flesh with almost no resistance. There was a scrape as it grated across her rib.

Eliot immediately let go of the knife. He was full of horror and grief.

“It was you, Eliot,” a voice in his head whispered. “It was you.”

Devereaux's body crumpled to the floor, and a stain spread out from her wound. She wore a simple white dress, and the shock of crimson stole Eliot's breath. There was matching blood on his skin, just a little because the knife was still deep in Devereaux's body. He stared at his shaking hands.

“No,” he thought. “This wasn't me. This was you.”

_Devereaux was dead. Devereaux was dead. Devereaux was dead._

“You killed her!” he shouted.

The voice in his head laughed. “Yes, I killed her. With your hands. I've done it once, here in your own mind, and I will do it again. You will do it again, and this time it will be real.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I won't kill her. You can't force me to.”

“Oh, yes, I can. I can and I will, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

“No,” he said again, just as firmly.

“Look at her, Eliot. Look what you've done.”

Eliot couldn't help but stare at Devereaux's lifeless form. He knew this was a dream. It felt so real that he'd never forget what it felt like to shove the knife up and into her heart, but it was all in his head.

That didn't matter. Nothing mattered but her lying dead at his feet. Her eyes were open, staring in shock at the ceiling, and the knife stuck out of her body like some obscene fifth limb.

“We did it, Eliot. Me and you,” the voice teased softly. “We'll do it again. Isn't that something to look forward to?”

And then it was gone. Eliot felt it leave as the chill left the air and his mind grew silent. With an aching heart, he dropped to his knees and picked Devereaux up in his arms. Now wasn't a time to deny he'd come to care for her. Now was a time to hold her in his arms. Pulling her close, Eliot began to rock.

XXX

Eliot gasped and opened his eyes. His heart was thundering, and he was so cold that his sheets felt like ice. The room was dark except for the dim light coming in the window from the moon.

He shivered, from cold and from horror. As a homicide detective, he had seen terrible things, and he'd learned to distance himself, but there was no way he could distance himself from how it had felt to murder Devereaux. The guilt and shame; the pain and grief. What if the evil spirit was right? What if there was no way he could stop it?

“Eliot...” he heard his name, whispered in the darkness. “Eliot...”

For a moment, he tensed, sure the spirit had come to torment him again.

Rose appeared a the end of his bed. She glowed faintly so that he could just barely see her bloodstained form. After his dream, it was almost too much for him.

“Eliot...”

The room began to warm, and the ice in his veins began to thaw. The ghost moved closer, the sadness in her face joined by tenderness and compassion.

“Go away,” he told her.

She shook her head and settled on the bed beside him. Placing her rose on the floor, Rose leaned over him. With their faces so close, he could see how pretty she was. There was a soft dusting of freckles across her nose.

“Eliot...”

Her hand brushed across his forehead, and it felt like flesh. It brought warmth and comfort with it. She stroked his face tenderly, and all of the tension and horror and fear slowly drained away. Warmth replaced ice; hope replaced doubt; calm replaced anxiety.

Eliot relaxed and his eyelids grew heavy. He fluttered them, trying to force them to remain open, but he couldn't. His last conscious thought was of a gentle feeling of peace.


	16. Chapter 16

Sophie kept sneaking glances at Eliot as she ate her eggs and toast. He'd been acting strangely—avoiding eye contact, speaking little, ignoring her while addressing the others as they came and went. It was making her nervous. Finally, worry got the best of her, and she reached across the table to put her hand over his wrist. His eyes jerked up to hers in surprise, and she breathed a sigh of relief. His skin was warm. 

“It's me,” he said gruffly, understanding her action.

“I had to be sure. You're not acting like yourself.”

He scowled.

“I mean it,” she said, tapping him with her hand. “What's wrong, Eliot?”

“There's nothing wrong.”

She could see in his eyes that something was bothering him. “Is it me?”

He stared at her just a little too long before he said, “No.”

“Then what?”

Things had been perfectly fine when they went to bed the night before. As a matter of fact, they'd been more than fine. A night of movies and friendship had made them both mellow and had softened some of Eliot's more prominent edges.

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Eliot. Tell me.”

“You're imagining things, Devereaux. Now leave me alone so I can eat.”

“If you're angry with me, I'd like to know.”

He put down his fork and looked directly into her eyes. Quietly, he said, “I'm not mad at you.”

Sophie decided to let it go. “Okay.”

“You're not eating,” he said, changing the subject. “Don't you like the eggs?”

“You know they're delicious.”

“Then eat.”

“Fine, but you're going to tell me what's going on eventually. You know you will.”

“Give it a rest.”

She made a face at him but attacked her eggs. They really were delicious.

XXX

When Eliot wandered into the living room after breakfast, he found Devereaux and her sisters with their heads together. Devereaux and Cassie were on the couch, and Parker sat cross legged on the coffee table facing them. It annoyed him that they quieted when they noticed him in the room.

He still couldn't look at Devereaux. Every time he tried, he saw her die. It had him on edge, and he didn't know how to make it stop.

Her laptop, beside Parker, gave him something else to focus on, so he asked, “Internet back yet?”

“Nope,” Parker answered. “Still dead.”

Eliot winced.

“And the laptop's still cold,” Devereaux told him pointedly.

“We'll make another trip into town,” he said. “The library's definitely open today. Where's Jake?”

“He's helping Uncle Jenkins get dressed.” Cassie was running her fingers over the top of the laptop, probably feeling the cold for herself.

Eliot's cell phone rang, surprising him. Looking at the screen, he saw the call was from Baird.

“I'm gonna take this,” he said. The women waved him off, so he went to the other side of the room and answered, “Spencer.”

“Hey, Spencer. How are you doing?”

“Can't complain.”

“Vacation treating you well?”

“All right. How're things on your end?”

“Actually, pretty light. Nothing Hardison and I can't handle. Listen, I'm calling with news.”

“I was hoping. What's the news?” He perched on the arm of a heavy, ugly chair, pretty sure it could take his weight.

“That guy you told us to keep our ears open about...James McKinnon...he was taken in for questioning about an hour ago.”

“That was fast.” So the bones really had belonged to Rose.

“Yeah.”

“He's alive,” Eliot commented.

“He lives about an hour and a half away from where you are.”

“They're questioning him here?”

“Yep. If you hurry, you should be able to catch him on his way out.”

“Thanks for the info, Baird.”

“Any time. I'll see you when you get back. Tell Sophie I said, 'hi'.”

“Yeah. Don't ruin the department while I'm gone.”

“Later.”

Eliot hung up and turned to see three pairs of eyes looking at him curiously. In response, he said, “They found Jamie.”

Devereaux stiffened. “They found him? He's alive?”

“Alive and being questioned about our body from under the rosebush.”

“But he didn't kill her.”

“Technically, he did, so we've got to hope he's not arrested if we want to talk to him.”

“What's going on?” Jake asked, coming into the room.

“Change of plans. We know where Jamie McKinnon is. Devereaux and I are going to go talk to him. You and Cassie can go to the library and research how to stop this thing.”

Devereaux looked from Eliot to Jake. “Jake?”

“Trust me,” Eliot told her.

“I do. And him.”

“Good because my brother has an IQ of 190.”

She looked startled. Jake blushed and said, “Dammit, Eliot.”

“He hates for people to know.”

Parker stood up on the coffee table and crossed her arms. She cocked her head at Jake and studied him as if he were a unique kind of insect.

“I don't care if you're smart, Jake,” Cassie assured him, touching his arm. “I'm really good at math. Really good.”

“She can be pretty scary,” Devereaux agreed.

“If you guys are out doing stuff,” Parker asked, “what am I supposed to do?”

“Someone's got to stay here with Uncle Jenkins.”

For a moment, it looked as if she'd argue, but she just said, “Okay.”

XXX

Sophie found she was nervous as she and Eliot sat outside the police station waiting for Jamie to come out. She wondered what he'd look like now, what he would be like. It was hard to believe she would actually be able to talk with someone who knew Rose when she was alive.

Sophie wondered if Jamie knew he'd killed her. Could he remember her death? Had he awoken later with no memories? Had it been him or the ghost that had buried her under the rose bush? How much of the truth would he actually tell them? The questions swirled around in her head, making her restless.

Beside her, Eliot sat alert and still. She supposed he was in stake out mode. He was always so patient on stake outs. They drove Sophie crazy.

Finally, weary of the silence, she asked, “Are you feeling any better?”

“Huh?” He looked at her but then his eyes slid away.

“From this morning.” He had been pale and, even after their short confrontation, continued to act strangely.

“I'm fine.”

“Fine fine or I don't want you to know how I'm feeling fine?” She crossed her arms and slumped back in the seat.

His gaze went over her slowly, starting with her face. He studied it so thoroughly, she felt almost naked. The gaze went down, following her body. Sophie began to feel self conscious.

“What is it?” she asked, unfolding her arms.

“I'm not going to let you die.”

“Of course you're not...and neither am I.”

“I just wanted you to know.” 

“Eliot, I...”

“There,” he interrupted, pointing out the windscreen. 

An older man was coming out of the building. His hair was short and neat but gray. He was a bit stooped, and he walked with a limp, In his face, Sophie could see shadows of the man in the photographs and the man she'd seen murder Rose.

“It's really him,” she breathed.

“You still wanna do this?”

Her stomach fluttered, but she said, “Yes.”

“Okay then. Let's go.”

He opened his door and, not wanting to be left behind, she did the same. She had no idea what she was going to say to Jamie or whether he'd even talk to them at all, but she couldn't get this close and not say anything.

Eliot looked both ways before jogging across the street. Sophie hurried to catch up, though she was willing to let him take the lead—up to a point.

As he approached Jamie, Eliot said pleasantly, “Mr. McKinnon, my name is Eliot Spencer. This is Sophie Devereaux. We were wondering if you had a few minute to speak with us.”

Jamie stopped and blinked. “Who...who did you say you were?”

Eliot offered Jamie his hand. “Eliot Spencer, sir. I'm staying in the old Turnbull place.”

Jamie's eyes widened, and he took a step back.

Sophie took Eliot's other hand as she joined him. She was surprised when he held hers back. “Some strange things have been happening in our house,” she said, “and we were hoping you could provide us with some insights.”

“Strange things?” Jamie asked faintly.

“Yes. We know you were a frequent visitor there in the past.”

“How...?”

“We found Rose's diary,” she said honestly.

“Rose.” He seemed to deflate. “My Rose.”

Sophie glanced at Eliot, who said, “May we buy you a cup of coffee, sir?”

“Dead all these years,” Jamie mumbled.

“We'd like to know about her.” Sophie dropped Eliot's hand and took Jamie's arm. “Will you tell us?”

His blue eye were watery as he looked at her. Sophie knew he was probably younger than Uncle Jenkins, but he looked older. Her heart went out to him.

“Please, Mr. McKinnon,” she asked softly.

“You look like her. A bit.” His voice was wistful. “But stronger. She was so fragile.”

Sophie smiled at him gently. “We know you loved her.”

He nodded. “Did you say something about coffee?”

“Yes, sir,” Eliot agreed. “There's a café just down the street.”

XXX

Once they were settled in a booth at the very back of the café and Jamie had his promised coffee, Sophie waited patiently to see what he would say.

“You said you were living in Rose's house?” Jamie asked, taking a sip of his coffee. His hands were trembling.

“Yes.” Sophie played with the handle of her own cup. “We wanted to know if you experienced strange occurrences when you were there...and we wanted to know about Rose.”

“I knew she was dead, you know. All those years, I knew in my heart. I couldn't face it, so I ran away. Europe. Canada. Australia. I traveled the world and Rose traveled with me.”

He reached into his shirt and took out a locket. It was plain and square, a man's piece of jewelry, but it opened up to a smiling picture of Rose.

“How did you know she'd died?” 

“The silence.”

When he didn't explain, Sophie prodded, “The silence?”

“I could feel her absence in the world. I didn't know they thought she'd run away with me...You seem like nice kids, and I guess it doesn't matter now, so I'll tell you...I might have killed her. I don't know if I did. I woke up in a hotel in California with blood on my clothes. I tried to call her, but when her grandmother answered, I hung up. I felt it. I knew. I was having blackouts. Bad ones. I'd prefer to think I fought to protect her. I'll never know.”

Sophie leaned forward earnestly. “Do you know what was causing the blackouts?”

“No, but they stopped after that.”

“Did you notice anything else strange happening?”

“I didn't, but Rose...”

“Rose what?” she asked gently, putting her hand over his.

“She thought the house was haunted.”

“Did something happen?”

“I didn't see anything, but Rose insisted.”

“Do you think that could have been what caused the blackouts?”

“I don't believe in ghosts.”

He looked so sad that Sophie decided to change the subject. “Were you and Rose happy?”

Jamie smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “Yes. Until the blackouts started, I'd never been happier in my life.” He looked down into his coffee. “After she was gone, I ran from her. I ran and ran until I couldn't run anymore. Then I came home, but I was never brave enough to find out what happened. A woman like Rose...you don't forget.”

“No,” Sophie agreed. “I only know her from her journal, and I don't think I'll ever forget her. You met through a mutual friend?”

His eyes lit up. “My cousin, Ian. We went on a blind date together. Rose was Ian's date. Mine was Denise...I don't remember her last name because it was Woon two months later. She married Ian.”

Eliot regarded him curiously. “You traded dates?”

Jamie chuckled. “Ian's friend chose Rose for him because they were both quiet and shy. Denise was loud. Bold. And Ian fell in love with her the moment he met her. It was clear almost immediately, so we traded seats—and I got to know my beautiful Rose.”

“You never loved again, did you?” Sophie asked quietly. 

“No. I never loved again.”

XXX

Devereaux was subdued as they left McKinnon and drove back to the library. Eliot knew she'd been eager to meet Rose's boyfriend, and he wondered if her questions had been answered. He glanced at her and saw she was gazing out the side window. She looked sad.

When they drove into the library parking lot, she came out of her thoughts and brushed her hand over his forearm. Her touch was such a surprise that he almost jerked the wheel.

“Do you think they found anything?” she asked.

“Jake and Cassie?”

“Yes.”

“Let's go find out.”

He waited until she drew her hand back before he opened his door because he wanted it to last. He kicked himself internally, but his attraction had been moving closer and closer to the surface. He hoped he'd be able to bury it again once they were back to work.

The town library was a cozy building, one floor with several different rooms. They found Cassie and Jake in the research room, one of them at the computer and the other with several books scattered over one big table.

Jake looked up from the books as they entered the room. His expression was both excited and triumphant. He straightened, leaving a piece of paper to mark his place. “Hey. How'd you make out?”

“He was nice,” Devereaux answered, “but he doesn't remember the ghost.”

Cassie turned in her chair. “Does he remember killing Rose?”

“No, but he knows he might have done it. I think he may have been waiting all this time for it to catch up to him.”

“So it was a dead end?” Her face fell.

Devereaux shook her head, her hair falling against her cheek. “I don't know, but I'm glad I met him. I just wish he would have listened more closely to Rose's fears.”

“He wasn't any help with the ghost thing,” Eliot reminded her.

“No.”

“It's all right,” Jake told them. “I think we've figured out what to do.”

“Oh.” The sadness left Devereaux's face.

“What?” Eliot demanded.

Jake pointed to a book that looked older than Jenkins's house. The cover had faded and the pages had browned. “This book. It's about how to get rid of strong evil spirits.”

Devereaux sat down in a chair across from him. “And it has the answers?”

“I think it does. First we have to cleanse the space. With most spirits that would be enough. For ours, I think it'll just weaken it.”

“Wait.” Devereaux held up her hand. “Will this hurt Rose?”

“'This' is sage, and it only fights against evil spirits. The Native Americans...”

“No history lesson,” Eliot cut him off.

Jake looked a little sulky, but he said, “The sage will weaken the spirit and make it vulnerable to a simple banishing spell.”

Devereaux sat forward and leaned her elbows on the table. “How simple?”

“We write our perceptions of the spirit on a piece of paper—in detail—and then we form a circle around it and burn it while we all concentrate on sending the spirit away. According to this book, using the sage and the spell together should be enough. The more people the better, and we have to be strong and not waver.”

“It sounds doable.”

“Scary things could happen if we fail,” Cassie added quietly.

“Worse than it killing me?”

“It could be angry enough to kill us all.”

“Do you want to go home?”

Cassie paled. “It's not having you without a fight.”

Eliot put his hand on Devereaux's shoulder and squeezed. “Agreed.”

Devereaux didn't look at him, but she placed her hand briefly over his. “I believe we're strong enough.”

“Next question,” Eliot kept touching her, “where do we find sage?”

“Probably not here,” Jake admitted.

“We'll have to go back to the city,” Devereaux commented.

“Devereaux and I will go,” Eliot put in.

Jake nodded. “Good idea.”

“It's better if you're both out of the house,” Cassie added.

“And you should go from here.”

Devereaux frowned. “You don't think we should go back to the house?”

Cassie got up and joined them at the table. “We think it will try to stop you.”

“Why would you think that?”

“The bridge,” Jake said.

“But that was a storm...” Devereaux trailed off. “Eliot?”

“Hell if I know, but why take a chance? We're going home. Everything we need is there.”

“Not my laptop.”

“Suck it up.” He glanced at his brother. “Do you think you'll be all right til tomorrow?”

Jake shrugged. “So far, it's the two of you it wants.”

“What do you say, Devereaux? Ready to go home for the night?”

She sighed. “I can always hand write...especially if we're trying to save my life.”

“That's the spirit!” Cassie said with a grin.

Devereaux glanced at her and winked.


	17. Chapter 17

By the time Sophie and Eliot got to the city, it was almost 8 o'clock. It seemed like so much later because meeting with Jamie had left Sophie drained and sad.

Eliot had been quiet during the drive in, and she'd been in no mood to break the silence. Instead, she closed her eyes and napped, dreaming mostly of Rose and Jamie. At one point, she had a terrifying dream about the evil spirit trying to kill her. It was so bad that Sophie jerked awake.

The moment she woke, she was reassured by Eliot's presence. It was like a soothing caress. Sophie closed her eyes and breathed in the comfort of him until her heart slowed.

“Devereaux?” he asked.

“Bad dream,” she admitted.

“We're almost home.” He indicated the buildings around them. “I'll drop you off and we'll go get the sage in the morning.”

The thought of being alone with all that was going on was distinctly unappealing. “Why don't you sleep over?”

He glanced at her. “What?”

“I don't want to be alone.”

“Seeing Jamie made it more real.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“I won't have to sleep in Parker's bed, will I?”

Sophie smiled. “We have a guest room.”

“Okay.” He shifted gears with a sureness that made Sophie tingle. She watched his hand and wanted to touch him. “We'll swing by my apartment to get some things, then we'll pick up some food and go to your place.”

She was grateful. “Thanks.”

He shrugged this off and didn't look at her.

As Eliot drove to his apartment, Sophie she sat up to watch the city go by. When he pulled up outside, she took off her seat belt and followed him into the building. Once they were inside his apartment, she tried not to gawk like a nosy child. 

“Here,” Eliot said, and she could hear his amusement, “I'll give you a tour.”

“You don't have to...”

“I can see the want to in your eyes.”

His apartment was as neat and efficient as he was. It lacked color and was layered in whites and grays and blacks. The kitchen was so shiny it gleamed, and the appliances were all newer than she'd expected. The living room made it obvious a bachelor lived there, and the furniture—mostly made of leather and reclinable—made her smile softly. There was a short hall that lead to a small bathroom with a clawfoot tub, much like the ones in Uncle Jenkins's house, with an attached shower on a long metal pole. A cloth shower curtain that had to be pulled all the way around hung from the ceiling. 

His bedroom was as immaculate as the rest of the apartment, but for some reason it made her blush. There was nothing overtly sexual about it. It was just a bedroom with a neatly made bed, a neatly organized closet, and a scattering of men's items on dressers and tables.

“Satisfied?” he asked as she took in the room.

There were so many replies that she could have given, but she settled on, “For now.”

“Good. Give me a few minutes, and I'll be ready to go.”

XXX

The evening started out quiet. Since there were only four of them, Jake picked them up something at an Italian restaurant for dinner, and they ate at the small breakfast table, avoiding talk of ghosts.

To Cassie, things felt a little off. Trying to overpower that feeling with words, she chattered away, taking over most of the conversation. The others didn't seem to mind. Parker picked at her pasta, Uncle Jenkins listened attentively, and Jake spoke when he had something to say.

After dinner, Cassie stayed behind to clean up. Her stomach was in knots as she worried about all that was happening. She usually tried to stay positive, but an evil spirit that wanted to kill her sister was terrifying. 

Watching as it took over Detective Spencer and knowing he couldn't control it had shaken her deeply. All that power and strength wielded by something evil was enough to make her shudder. Things would go very badly if they failed.

Cassie's hand shook a little as she put dishes in the sink. She paused and rubbed her cheek with her wrist as she found herself fighting tears. A warm draft stirred her hair, making it tickle her nose. Surprised, Cassie brushed the hair from her face and went to pick up the next plate.

Beside it was a yellow rose. The rose was flecked with blood, but Cassie didn't find it frightening. It was obvious that Rose was trying to give her comfort in the only way she knew how, and Cassie was touched. The gesture made Cassie feel a little lighter. Knowing Rose believed in them gave Cassie the hope she needed., and she started to think they might actually have a chance.

XXX

The fire going out with a cold blast of air from the chimney were the first indication that they weren't alone. Jake got up to check the fireplace, and another cold blast got him in the face. He blinked as whirling ash made his eyes water and spill over.

The room quickly got lost its heat. He turned to look at the others. Cassie was pale but Parker looked intrigued. Jenkins was clutching his blanket.

“It's okay,” Jake said quietly.

The door slammed shut, loud in the quiet room, and then sprung open again. It did this four times before it stopped.

Cassie gripped Parker's arm and her knuckles turned white, but Parker didn't seem to notice. Jake did, and he stood to go back over to them. 

The curtains on the big window suddenly closed with such force they rattled the rod. Cassie gasped. Parker shook her off and got to her feet. Jake quickly took Parker's hand. Startled, she glanced at him.

“No.”

“But...”

“Parker.”

The curtains zinged as they flew back open. Jake winced when two pictures fell off of the wall, shattering the glass.

“Uncle Jenkins?” Cassie asked.

“It's all right. They're just pictures.” The man's voice was so calm that Jake felt some of the tension start to leave him.

The room got colder as their cards came up off of the coffee table and started to swirl above it. They turned and danced and slid around each other like lovers.

Cassie jumped up and foolishly tried to catch them, but they fluttered out of her reach as if they were teasing her. Annoyance flashed over her face, wiping out her fear.

The cards traveled around the room, and Cassie watched them with her arms crossed. They came over and swirled around her, and she glared at them. By that time, the room was so cold that Jake's arms felt like ice.

The cards dropped to the floor at Cassie's feet, and the chill left the room as suddenly as it had come.

“Is it gone?” Cassie asked quietly.

“That was awesome,” Parker commented, just as quietly.

“The temperature is rising,” Jenkins said, adjusting the blanket over his legs.

It was, steadily and quickly. Without saying anything, Jake went back to the fireplace to relight the fire. 

“What was that about?” Cassie shuddered and bent to pick up the cards.

“It was playin' with us,” Jake said dismissively.

“You wouldn't let me play,” Parker told him grumpily.

“Parker, dear, don't antagonize the homicidal ghost,” Jenkins said dryly.

“But I might never see another one.”

“I hope I never see another one.” Cassie was straightening the cards into a deck as she spoke.

Jake couldn't help but agree as he went back to the coffee table. The four of them settled around it and restarted their game as they tried to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

XXX

Being alone with Eliot in her apartment felt both comforting and a bit exciting. Even though they'd been alone together a lot lately, it had never been in an otherwise empty apartment, and it had never been in her own space.

As they took their food from the take away bags, their interaction was a bit awkward. Sophie avoided Eliot's eyes while trying to pretend everything was normal. She knew it was foolish to suddenly be so aware of him just because he was standing beside her. His scent, his presence, his overall Eliotness was more overwhelming than it had ever been before.

He handed her a container and their hands brushed. There were tingles.

“We're never gonna eat all this,” Eliot commented easily, emptying the last of the bags.

“We'll bring the leftovers with us tomorrow. Parker loves Wong's.”

“You eat too much take out.”

Sophie shrugged. “We don't usually have a live in Eliot to cook our meals for us.”

“You should have.”

“Are you offering?”

He snorted at the thought, but Sophie pictured him cooking in her kitchen with a cute little apron. The image warmed her with amusement and just a smidgeon of lust.

She bit her lip and went to the cupboard to get plates so she could hide her face. It had heated up quickly under his scrutiny.

As Sophie was setting the table, her cell phone rang. She expected it to be Flynn, but when she looked it was from her uncle's. Worried, she reached over and grabbed Eliot's wrist instinctively. He was pouring them glasses of milk, but he stopped immediately.

“Devereaux?”

“Something's happened.”

“It's from the house?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe they're just checking on us. Answer.”

Sophie nodded and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Sophie?” It was Parker, her voice quiet.

“Is everything all right?”

“The ghost came.” She sounded excited, but she didn't raise her voice.

“Which ghost?” Sophie asked tightly.

“The bad one.”

“What happened?”

“It's okay.” She must have been able to tell how alarmed Sophie was. “It didn't hurt anybody. It just slammed the door and broke some pictures and stuff. Cassie was scared.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Pretending it didn't happen, but it did. I saw it.”

“You're sure no one was hurt?”

“Nope. Jake thinks it was just teasing us.”

Sophie hoped he was right. “Remember to watch for signs someone is not him or herself.”

“I know. Cold skin. Acting weird. Likes knives. I remember.”

“Good. Watch over Cassie.”

“I always do.”

“Good girl. We'll be back early tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay, Soph...It was really cool.”

Those wouldn't have been her words. “I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

“I really did.”

“I'll see you tomorrow. Call me if you have to.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

“Everything all right?” Eliot asked as she put down her phone.

“They had a visitor. Apparently, it showed a bit of temper—or malicious mischief.”

“We're what it wants. They'll be fine.”

Sophie sighed. “I know, but...”

“Hey, sit down and eat. You'll feel better.”

She flashed him a smile. “You and food.”

“Don't knock it.” He pulled out her chair for her.

She gaped at him.

“What?”

“You've never done that before.”

“Just sit, Devereaux.”

XXX

There was tension between them that had never been there before. Eliot had first noticed it when he'd been unpacking their dinner, and, by the way Sophie had avoided his gaze, she'd felt it too.

Eliot had forced himself to ignore the way his scalp prickled and the way he seemed to feel her breath on his skin even when she wasn't close enough to touch. All evening, he tried to act normal and to talk to her as if he weren't wondering what the skin across her collarbone tasted like.

It was hard not to touch her—harder than it ever had been. During their night of mindless TV watching and talking about her new book, he'd had to clench his hands several times, hoping she didn't notice.

Going their separate ways to go to bed was almost a relief. The air around them felt heavy as they said good night. Eliot knew that if she made one move towards him, one indication that she wanted him to join her, he wouldn't be able to say no. 

Luckily, she just tucked the hair that had fallen against her cheek back behind her ear, smiled softly, and looked down. “Good night, Eliot.”

“Good night, Devereaux,” he answered gruffly, glad that she couldn't see into his mind.

Like at Jenkins's, their rooms were side by side, but he was more aware of it here. Just one small, thin wall separated them as she undressed for bed. Eliot closed his eyes as the picture taunted him, and he paused with his hand on the button of his jeans.

Devereaux had always been tempting, had always had his emotions and his libido on edge, but it was worse now. Ever since he'd entered that house, every thought and fantasy he had for her had been magnified. Was it the natural progression of their attraction because they were spending so much time together or was there something else at play?

Eliot's mind went back to his dream of her. It had been so real, almost like a memory. Like the rest of the dreams he'd been having, which weren't really dreams at all. They were all images given to him by ghosts, both good and bad, as the spirits fought over whether he'd be Devereaux's saviour or her murderer.

Eliot felt anger bubble up inside of him as he realized exactly what his dream of her had been. It wasn't his. As much as he'd enjoyed it, it was another way the ghosts had tried to manipulate him. He wasn't sure which one had given it to him, but he didn't like it.

Despite this, he couldn't go back now. He'd seen how it could be, experienced it, and his budding feelings for her had bloomed at an accelerated rate. Because of the ghosts' meddling, he was left wanting her—not just in his bed but in his life—and it pissed him off.

Part of him wanted to storm into her room and demand to know if they'd been manipulating her too. Had she had dreams of loving him, and had it changed her as much as it had changed him? 

The only thing that stopped him was knowing that voicing it would call attention to it. Once it was out there, it couldn't be taken back, and he didn't think he was ready to go there with her. He didn't know if he ever would be.

All these new thoughts suddenly zinging around in his head didn't make him want her any less. It made him cautious, but it didn't mean he wouldn't be thinking of the softness of her skin when he closed his eyes. Or the sweetness of her mouth. Or the place on her neck where the scent of cinnamon and vanilla met and mingled, that perfect spot he longed to bury his face in...

With a curse, Eliot ran a hand through his hair and tugged firmly. Thoughts like that weren't helping. As it was, he had no idea how he'd sleep, not when he was so aware of her sleeping so close to him. What was a wall in the scheme of things?

Eliot groaned and yanked down his jeans. He started reciting the Miranda Rights to himself over and over again, hoping they'd drive Devereaux from his thoughts and relax him enough to get some sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

The next day dawned bright and warm. As Sophie yawned her way through breakfast, she took this as a positive sign. Eliot, even crankier than usual, had already eaten and left to load the car. The apartment was quiet and Sophie felt a little lonely as she filled her belly with Eliot's yummy eggs.

While she was eating, she used her phone to search for shops that sold sage. There were more than she'd expected, and she refused to let Eliot's bad mood dim the hope that was growing in her heart. 

By the time Eliot returned, she had finished eating and was washing her dishes in the sink. She turned when she heard the door. He looked rather windblown, and he was wearing his leather jacket. He'd opted once more for jeans, and they fit him well. She was getting used to this casually sexy Eliot, and it would be a shame when he hid it under suits and ties.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Almost. I don't want to leave these.”

Eliot nodded in acceptance and shoved his hands in his pockets. Sophie wondered what he was thinking. Was his silence and tense posture the result of more than just a bad mood?

She grabbed her coat and purse and went over to stand in front of him. He avoided her eyes, and she wanted to know why.

“Eliot?” she asked.

“Let's go.”

She touched his hand, and he flinched. The reaction was so unexpected, she took a step back. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” he said simply and pointed to the door.

When it was obvious she wouldn't get any more out of him, she sighed and went into the hallway. Eliot followed but not close enough to touch.

Sophie's worries started up again. Did he know something she didn't or, more importantly, did he think they were going to fail? She didn't want to broach the subject because she was afraid of his answer, so she was silent as they drove to Sarah's Herbs.

At the tiny shop, Eliot was lucky enough to get a parking space right in front. He put the car in park and made no move to get out.

“Are you coming in?” she asked.

“Devereaux...”

“Yes?”

“If this doesn't work...”

“Hush.” She cut him off quickly and leaned over to place her fingers over his lips. When he stopped talking, she added, “That won't help. We have to trust in Jake, trust in ourselves. We can beat this thing. If you start wavering, I'll waver too.”

He nodded, his eyes watching her carefully. Their faces were very close. Sophie swallowed and slowly sat back in her seat. When she pulled on the door handle, all of her attention now on the door, she heard his own rattle.

“Let's go buy some sage,” he said gruffly.

XXX

Despite the danger that waited there for them, the house seemed to welcome Sophie and Eliot home as they made their way down the long driveway. The moment their car stopped, the front door banged open and Parker ran out onto the porch in her pajamas. Her feet were bare, and she hadn't bothered to throw on a robe.

“She must have been waitin' for us,” Eliot commented.

Parker looked excited and not worried, so Sophie didn't hurry as she took of her seat belt and opened the door.

“Hi, Sophie!” Parker called.

“Hello, Parker. Give us a minute. We've got some stuff to bring in.”

Eliot silently brushed past her to go to the back of the car.

“Do you need some help?” Parker asked.

“Parker, you have no shoes on.”

“Rocks don't hurt my feet.”

“We're fine.” She eyed Eliot, who had emerged with most of their bags and packages.

“We'd be more fine if you helped lug,” he growled.

Sophie sighed. “If I must.”

“You must.”

Grimacing at him, she went to the back and saw there were only two bags left. One was Eliot's overnight bag, and the other was the bag with the sage. Both were very light, and she knew he'd intended it that way. The big softy.

A smile played over her lips, but she made sure it was gone by the time she joined him in front of the car. She also pretended she didn't notice he was carrying so much more than she was.

Parker had disappeared back inside the house by the time they climbed the steps, so there was no one to help with the door. Sophie slung Eliot's bag over her shoulder so she could get it, and he somehow managed to squeeze through with all of the bags. She leaned forward a bit as he passed, telling herself she wasn't really intentionally brushing against him.

Once inside, they headed up the stairs. Cassie appeared when they were almost at the top. Looking up at them, she asked, “Sophie, did you get the...”

“Yes,” Sophie interrupted, turning to give her sister a stern look. She didn't know how aware of its surroundings the evil spirit was, and she didn't want it to figure out their plan until it was too late.

Cassie stopped abruptly, and Sophie saw understanding dawn over her face. “Are we going to do it today?”

“As soon as we get these upstairs,” Eliot told her.

“Good.” Cassie was a little pale, and Sophie wondered if the events from the night before were still bothering her.

Upstairs, Eliot dropped some bags outside of Sophie's bedroom and continued on to his own. She followed him and looped the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Any time.” She winked at him, and he immediately took a step back.

“You'd better unpack the stuff.”

“Okay,” she said, a little hurt and angry at herself for being hurt. It was probably better if Eliot refused to flirt with her.

Without saying anything else, she went to her room and put her bags on the bed. She dug through them until she found both the sage and a small glass bowl.

She was staring at the bowl when Cassie came in saying, “You'll need this.”

Sophie glanced up to see Cassie holding Uncle Jenkins's emergency lighter. She took it and opened the bag of sage. Jake had told her to walk around each room slowing, paying special attention to doors, windows, and corners.

The bag that held the glass bowl also had a small earthen pot. She looked it all over as she'd done in the store.

“What's that for?” Cassie asked.

“You're supposed to light the sage, put it in this pot, and extinguish it. That's where the smoke comes from.”

“Oh.”

“I have no idea what I'm doing.”

“It can't be too hard. It's the smoke that's important.”

Sophie lit the sage and wrinkled her nose at the smell. Following Jake's instructions the best she could, she cleansed her bed, the window, and the desk.

When she heard Cassie make a soft sound behind her, she looked over her shoulder and saw Rose. Despite the blood, it seemed natural for Rose to be there. The ghost watched Sophie solemnly, the ever present rose in her hand.

“I was promised this wouldn't hurt you,” Sophie said.

Rose didn't react, so Sophie continued to cleanse her room. When she was done, she went into the bathroom. She heard Cassie talking to Rose, which Sophie thought was unusual.

Because of how slowly she was going, it took her longer than she'd expected to do the upstairs. Cassie followed behind, as if she were standing guard. Surprisingly, Rose also followed, her silent vigil almost a comfort. Twice, Jake came to tell Sophie that windows were rattling and doors were slamming in different parts of the house. Sophie nodded in acceptance and refused to falter.

Once the upstairs was done, she headed down the grand staircase wondering if her efforts were indeed weakening the evil spirit. Eliot was waiting for her at the bottom, but it was Rose his eyes went to.

“Eliot...”

Sophie heard the whisper and almost dropped the pot.

He clenched his jaw and folded his arms; his eyes sparked with an emotion she couldn't read. His stance was almost hostile, and Sophie wondered if Rose had done something to anger him.

“Upstairs is done,” Cassie said unnecessarily.

“Why is she here?” he asked, but there was no anger in his voice.

“I think she's watching over me,” Sophie told him.

Eliot eyed the ghost uncertainly, but he relaxed his arms.

“I'm going upstairs,” he said, “in my room. If I come out before you come to get me, stay away from me and go get Jake.”

Sophie searched his face then nodded. What he was leaving unsaid made her stomach knot.

“No matter what I say, don't come near me,” he reiterated.

“I understand.” Sophie touched his arm, and this time he didn't flinch away.

His eyes burned into hers for just a moment before he pushed past her to go up the stairs.

Sophie watched him go, an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Cassie took her free hand briefly and squeezed it. Sophie smiled at her wanly and squeezed back. They shared a glance, and Sophie nodded slightly.

“There's still a lot of house left. I'd better get started on the downstairs.”

“Lead the way,” Cassie agreed.

Sophie took a deep breath and straightened her spine. Pushing everything else out of her mind, she lit the sage again, determined to finish what she had started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was short and not very exciting, but it was needed to set things up for the final chapter. Can you believe we've finally only got one more chapter to go?


	19. Chapter 19

Once Sophie was done cleansing the downstairs, they all gathered in the sitting room. Even though it was the middle of the day and actually quite warm, Jake lit a fire. The cheerful flames were comforting. They snapped and crackled and danced merrily as if they were filled with joy.

Sophie studied the faces around her as she gripped the white bowl. Uncle Jenkins was calm; Parker was excited; Cassie was nervous; Jake was hopeful; Eliot was angry. She had no idea what she was feeling so she kept her face blank. When she caught Cassie's eye, she smiled a reassurance she didn't feel.

“There's some paper in the top drawer of the desk,” Uncle Jenkins said quietly.

Without speaking, Jake went over and dug out both paper and a pen. He handed these to Sophie.

“What should I say?”

“What it is. As detailed as you can.”

She nodded and sat on the couch, placing the bowl on the floor next to her. Eliot joined her, so close that their sides touched.

At first, Sophie had no idea what to write. How could she find words to explain what that thing was? She bit her lip and closed her eyes. After a moment of thought, the writer in her took over. She opened her eyes, and the words flowed out. She wrote about what the spirit had done, the murder and the fear and the taking over of bodies to perform heinous acts. She wrote about what it had been like to experience those acts and about her perceptions—the cold air, Eliot's horrible dreams, the chilling voice. As she wrote, the others all settled quietly and waited. Even Parker didn't speak.

When Sophie was done, when she was absolutely sure she'd said everything she could say, she handed the page to Eliot to look over. He held the paper in his right hand, so she took his left, and he curled his fingers around hers.

“I can't think of anything else,” Eliot finally said and handed the paper back.

“What now?” Sophie looked at Jake, but it was Cassie who answered,

“We all have to gather in a circle and hold hands with the bowl in the centre.”

Parker picked up the bowl and plunked it down on the floor. Sophie placed her words in the bowl, and they all made a rough circle. Eliot was on Sophie's left, and was Cassie on her right.

“So, we just light the paper?” Parker asked.

Cassie reached into her pocket and took out the lighter. “Who wants to do it?”

“Can I do it?”

“Go ahead, Parker,” Sophie told her.

Parker went to the bowl and bent while everyone else held hands.

Eliot's grip was strong and firm. Solid, like him. Cassie's hand was slim and delicate, smaller than Sophie's own. Sophie anchored herself with the feeling of their skin against hers.

The paper lit immediately, and a sudden chill went through the room.

“Let it go, Parker, and join the circle,” Sophie hissed when her sister stopped to watch the thread of flame.

Parker looked up, her face pale, and threw the paper in the bowl. Quickly, she got between Jake and Uncle Jenkins, grabbing one by the hand and touching the other on the back of the neck. 

“Remember,” Jake said quietly, “focus.”

He didn't say on what, but they all knew. Sophie took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths and started to think about banishing the evil spirit. They had to focus on that thought unerringly, over and over. All the spell needed was the fire and their will.

The ashes in the fireplace swirled, and wood crackled and fell. Smoke driven by cold air blew into their faces. Sophie blinked and her eyes began to water.

“Don't break the circle,” Jake reminded them.

Cassie closed her eyes, but Sophie kept her gaze on Parker, who was directly across from her. There was a fierce, angry expression on Sophie's youngest sister's face, and her lips were forming the words, “Go away...go away...go away...” over and over again. Sophie took strength from that.

The cold wind swirled around them and then back to the fire. It roared into huge flames for just an instant and then died out completely. Sophie's hands tightened on Eliot's and Cassie's as the curtains on both windows slammed shut with a metallic rattle. The door followed with a loud bang.

Sophie shivered as a cold blast of air hit the back of her neck, but she didn't falter. She kept on repeating the banishing spell in her mind.

Candlesticks moved on the mantle; pictures fell off the wall.

Nothing happening outside of the circle seemed to affect the little flame. It burned slowly but steadily, giving off a soft curl of smoke.

“It's trying to distract us,” Cassie said, sounding frightened.

“Keep fighting,” Sophie told her softly. “You're doing great.”

That's when Eliot's grip changed. She couldn't tell precisely how; it just felt suddenly different. An instant later, it tightened painfully and grew cold.

“Jake,” Sophie said urgently.

“I feel it.”

Eliot—or the thing that had taken over Eliot's body—laughed and dropped their hands.

“Reform!” Jake ordered sharply. “Reform around him. There's still time.”

He shoved Eliot roughly, and Eliot stumbled towards the bowl. Jake's hand was grabbing Sophie's before Eliot had even straightened.

“Keep concentrating. Now that it's in the circle, we got it. It can't get out. Whatever you do, don't let go.”

The spirit grimaced and glared at them, turning a full circle in place as it looked for a weak point. It rushed headlong at Cassie, but, though she shuddered, she just closed her eyes again and held on tighter.

Sophie kept telling herself that the thing in the circle wasn't really Eliot. It snarled at her and clenched its hands, and she wondered if Eliot was aware in there somewhere.

“I will kill you,” it said. “I will kill all of you. One by one. Eliot will choke the life out of you, and I'll enjoy it.”

Sophie swallowed but kept thinking of banishing the spirit. 

After a moment, it said desperately, “Stop this. You don't know what you're doing. If I die, he'll die, too. You're killing him. He's dying. Stop. Please stop.”

“You lie,” Jake growled. “We know you lie.”

Sophie needed to believe it was lying to save itself. Hanging onto that thought was the only thing that kept her going—especially after the screaming started.

The screams were in Eliot's voice. She could hear him in the pain and torment, and she started to shake.

“It hurts,” he pleaded. “It hurts...Stop...Please stop...”

Sophie's heart lurched painfully, but she kept repeating the banishing words in her mind.

“Sophie....Sophie, stop.” He screamed again and fell to his knees. “Please...Please don't kill me.”

Her eyes filled and she clenched her teeth.

“Jake.” His shattered expression turned to Jake. “You're my brother. You're tearing me apart. It hurts. It hurts so much.”

He moaned and bowed his head, his body tense. He closed his eyes and started to rock, soft moans continuing to well up. They sounded loud in the silence, and one of Sophie's eyes spilled over. The tear slid slowly down her cheek.

Eliot was sobbing with pain now, broken by agony. Sophie kept telling herself it wasn't real, but a small part of her began to doubt.

Cassie was openly crying beside her, and her hand was tight and trembling. On the other side, Jake's face had gone white. Sophie glanced at him for support but saw fighting his own doubts was taking all he had. Uncle Jenkins sat there serenely with his eyes closed, and she had no idea how he could look so calm and unaffected. It was Parker who helped firm Sophie's resolve.

Parker's face was scrunched up, and she was still resolutely mouthing, “Go away...go away...go away...” Her eyes were hard with fury, and she looked as if she'd fight the spirit single handedly if she had to.

“Sophie...Sophie...Sophie...” Eliot sobbed her name.

Another tear slipped from her control, and she wondered when it would all be over. She didn't know how much more she could take.

His arms were around his middle, and he was bowed almost to the floor. His sobs turned to pained gasps and then even they faded into nothing.

There was sudden silence, and Eliot stilled. Sophie swallowed and tensed, wondering what was coming next.

One of Eliot's arms slowly uncurled from his stomach, and he laid his palm flat on the floor. Everything was still so quiet Sophie could hear him taking deep, harsh breaths. After several of these, he croaked, “It's gone.”

His voice was ragged from screaming and thick from sobbing, but it sounded more like him.

Sophie was almost ready to believe but not quite. She knew the spirit would do anything to save itself.

“Prove it,” she told him shakily, still holding tightly to Cassie and Jake.

With a groan, Eliot pushed himself to a seated position. Despite the cold room, there was sweat on his forehead and his expression was oddly blank. Hair fell down to cover his face, and he wearily pushed it away. It seemed to take great effort to get to his feet, and Sophie had to squelch a desire to rush over and help him.

Once standing, he studied her, his eyes veiled and mysterious. There was no indication on his face as to what he was thinking.

Eliot stumbled a little as he came towards her, as if his legs wouldn't work properly. When he finally stood in front of her, he gazed into her eyes. Since their heights were so close, she could feel his breath on her face. He reached up and pressed his palm gently against her cheek. It was warm.

Sophie closed her eyes briefly in relief and took a shaky breath. When she opened them, she announced, “It's him.” 

Dropping Cassie's and Jake's hands, she touched Eliot's where it still rested against her face.

“Eliot.” Barely holding back tears, and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Eliot, are you all right?”

He hugged her back tightly, his body hard and comforting. “Yes.”

Eliot stroked her back, and she buried her face in his neck, so happy he was alive she couldn't find a way to express her feelings.

“Did it really hurt?” Parker asked, breaking their little bubble, and Sophie reluctantly released him.

“A little,” he admitted, “but most of the pain you heard belonged to the spirit not me.” He studied her solemnly. “Thanks for not giving up.”

“It wanted to kill Sophie,” she said stubbornly. Then she added with obvious reluctance, “and it was hurting you.”

Eliot held out his hand to her for a shake, and she took it warily. He gave her a brief, soft smile before turning to his brother. Jake squeezed him in a tight, firm hug. Cassie barely waited for the brothers to break apart before she grabbed Eliot.

There were tear tracks on her face as she said, “I'm so glad you're okay.”

“You did good,” he told her, hugging her gently. 

“I, too, am glad to see you are in one piece, young man,” Uncle Jenkins put in.

Eliot went over and took the old man's good hand. “Thank you, sir. I could feel your strength of will when that thing was inside me.”

Sophie felt relief and happiness trying to burst through her skin. She didn't know how to contain it. She wanted to sing and dance and twirl around, none of which was very dignified.

“Does anybody want ice cream?” 

Five pairs of eyes turned to her in surprise.

“I think we should celebrate. It's not every day you defeat an evil, homicidal spirit.”

Eliot lifted a hand. “Two out of three.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Eliot.” Then she touched his arm because she had to touch him. She was alive. He was alive.

“How about pizza?” Jake asked.

“Pizza?” Uncle Jenkins thought about that. “I haven't had pizza in ages.”

“Pizza it is then,” Sophie agreed.

“I'll even go get it,” Jake offered.

“Pizza with ice cream for dessert. It sounds heavenly.”

“Wait,” Parker told him. “I'll go with you. If we're having ice cream, I want whipped cream and chocolate sauce.”

“Oh, yum,” Cassie added. “And peanuts...and bananas.”

“Banana splits!” Parker grinned a rare grin.

The leftover tension in the room dissolved into a discussion about what they wanted on the pizza, as if they hadn't been fighting to live just moments before. The sound of normal conversation was comforting as Sophie grabbed the bowl off of the floor and dumped the ashes in the fireplace. Interestingly enough, the tiny fire had continued to burn until after the spirit had been banished. Sometime during Sophie and Eliot's hug, the flame had gone out.

XXX

Eliot and Sophie were suddenly left alone together when Cassie decided to go with Jake and Parker and their uncle went to lie down after the excitement. Sophie kept sneaking glances at Eliot, hardly believing that the spirit was gone for good and that it couldn't take over his body anymore.

She'd been scared, she admitted to herself as she followed him into the kitchen. Seeing Eliot break, even though it wasn't really him, had almost torn her heart in two.

Eliot himself wasn't showing any ill effects left over from his possession. She watched him move around her uncle's kitchen as if he belonged there, getting out plates and silverware and glasses.

Sophie sat at the table out of the way, fiddling with one of the forks he put beside her. She wasn't sure what to say to him. What words fit in this kind of situation?

She was still reaching for words when a rose appeared next to the plates. It was a beautiful rose, soft yellow with perfect petals, and its surface was unmarred. There were no signs of blood.

She gasped and touched one of the petals. It was soft under her finger, and she stroked it gently.

“Eliot, look.”

He turned but his eyes didn't go to the rose. He was looking at something behind her.

Sophie's breath caught because she wasn't sure what to expect. Slowly, she shifted her body so she could see what he saw.

Rose was standing there, and she was different than before. She was still wearing the simple white dress, but it was whole. There were no rips and tears. It wasn't grubby and no wound seeped blood. Rose looked sturdy and strong. She looked almost alive.

It was her face that had changed the most. Gone was the sadness. Her eyes were bright, and she looked happy. Peaceful. She smiled at Sophie and raised her hand in a small wave.

“Rose!” Sophie said, getting to her feet.

“Thank you, Sophie,” she replied. “Thank you, Eliot.”

After she spoke, she began to fade, her body evaporating like mist. Sophie watched until the last traces of Rose were gone before asking Eliot, “You saw her?”

“Yes, I saw her.”

“She was beautiful...and happy. We did that.”

Eliot came up beside her, and she took his hand. 

“I don't think we'll see her again,” he said quietly.

“No, but I'm glad she came to say good-bye.”

“Me, too.”

XXX

Eliot and Devereaux were at the table quietly talking when Jake, Parker, and Cassie came in. At their appearance, Devereaux got up and tapped Eliot on the back of the hand playfully. “I'd better get Uncle Jenkins.”

“Do you want me to do it?”

“No, I'd better get used to pushing him. You won't be here forever.”

While Devereaux was gone, he got up and exchanged a plate for Parker's heavy bag. Jake put the pizza on the table and opened the top. Before Eliot even had the bag on the counter, Parker was grabbing a slice. Cassie put her lighter bag beside Eliot's. He glanced inside both of them and saw the things they'd mentioned as well as some extras like sprinkles, strawberry jam, and cherries.

Devereaux came back into the kitchen with Jenkins, who said, “That smells delicious.”

Eliot thought so, too. He found he was suddenly famished. His insides already felt cracked and bruised from the spirit's invasion, and there was fatigue way deep in his bones. Maybe that's why he didn't notice the hunger right away.

None of the others—even Parker—had asked him what it had been like to have that thing inside of him. It was as if they were giving him space to process it, which made him grateful. It had been horrible. He had been completely aware of being shoved aside. His body hadn't been his own, and he had struggled helplessly to break free.

It had been torture knowing that if he couldn't get loose and the spirit got his friends to break their circle, his body would kill them all. This knowledge sat like a raw wound in the back of his mind. He was so thankful for their strength. 

Everyone started grabbing slices of pizza and settling around the table, except for Parker who jumped up onto the counter. Eliot looked at them, really looked at them. This was what family looked like. This was what strength looked like.

“Eliot,” Devereaux said, coming up to him and softly brushing his side with hers, “why aren't you eating yet?” There was a piece of pizza on the plate in her hand, but she hadn't taken a seat yet because she'd served her uncle first. “Aren't you hungry?”

For an instant, the scent of cookies drowned out the scent of pizza. “Starved.”

It took all of his will not to touch her because his emotions were so close to the surface. He fought off the impulse and grabbed a slice to plunk on his plate, almost wishing his willpower weren't quite so strong.

XXX

This time when she dreamed of Eliot, she had no idea it was a dream. It was softer and sweeter, with tender brushes of hands and gentle kisses. The passion was there, but it wasn't as desperate and raw, and they took their time to touch and taste. There was laughter and conversation and a kiss that reached way down inside of her and squeezed her heart.

When Sophie woke, she lay in bed with her eyes closed, soaking in the peaceful warmth of the dream's memories. It was different than the dream she'd come to realize had come from Rose. This real dream had been soft and cozy, and even now the memories were slowly fading, leaving her with nothing but a few hot images and a feeling of peace.

With a sigh, she forced herself to sit up. She stretched slightly and shivered a bit because the room was a little cool, though it was a natural, early days of spring kind of cool.

As she got up, she wondered what she was going to do about Eliot. She knew what her body wanted her to do. Since he'd been in her uncle's house, her longing for him had gotten stronger. Seeing him as Eliot instead of just Detective Spencer had made her realize how much she really liked him. Added to that was Rose's not so subtle attempt to bring them together. Her poor heart hadn't had a chance.

But they'd only known each other two months, and Eliot had that stupid no work and pleasure rule. Sophie didn't really have any idea how he felt about her. She saw sparks here and there in his eyes, felt tingles sometimes on his skin, but how much of that was real? She didn't want to be just a one night stand for him. If he touched her that way, she wanted him to mean it.

Her disappointing conclusion was nothing. She'd do nothing with Eliot, at least not until she knew what he was thinking. Or what he was feeling. Until then, she'd work with him, give him the parts of her he was willing to accept, and wait to see what happened.

XXX

The final days of Eliot and Jake's vacation went by quickly. Unlike the days before, it was a real vacation, filled with rest and relaxation. It would have driven Eliot crazy if not for the wonderful Devereaux/Cillian sisters. They were everywhere, pulling him in different directions and never giving him the chance to be bored. By the time his vacation drew to a close, even Parker had started to grow on him, and he was starting to see why his brother liked her so much.

The final day of their vacation dawned beautiful and warm, and Eliot felt good though reluctant to leave the bubble of friendship and peace behind. Getting back to the real world, and killers who were flesh and blood, would be a bit of an adjustment after the past two weeks, but he was looking forward to it.

But he'd miss this place.

The sisters had come out on the porch to say good bye as Eliot and Jake loaded up their vehicles. Eliot glanced back and had to smile. Parker was in her pajamas, blue and white striped cotton with big, pink, fuzzy slippers. She had her arm wrapped around one of the posts holding up the roof. In her other hand was a box of Sugar Crisps. Cassie stood beside her in an outfit that might be seen on any young teen or preteen, but it was cute and it suited her. In her hand, she held the yellow rose, which was still as fresh as if it had just been picked. Instead of looking unusual, she looked sweet. Eliot had really begun to appreciate her sweet and gentle nature, and he could see why Devereaux felt the need to protect her.

And then there was Devereaux herself.

She was dressed simply in a pair of designer jeans and a long sleeved blue silk shirt. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, and her hands were in her back pockets. She looked as if she belonged to this house, and he wondered, in that instant, if she would really be coming back to the city. Maybe, after he was gone, she'd decide she really wanted to live in Jenkin's carriage house and write and garden. He knew, after she finished her Cole Maxwell mystery, she wanted to write a novel about Rose. This would be the place to do it.

“I think I've got everything,” Jake said. “I'm going to head out.”

Eliot glanced at him. “Okay. Give me a minute.”

Jake nodded in understanding. Turning to the porch, he waved an arm. The women all smiled and waved back, even Parker.

“Bye, Jake!” Cassie called.

When Jake got in his truck, it started fine, and Eliot was left to wonder if one of the ghosts had been responsible for the breakdown that had started everything.

As Jake drove off and Eliot went back to the porch, Cassie looked at Parker and slapped her lightly on the arm.

“What?”

“We should go in.”

“Why?”

“We just should.”

Parker shrugged. “Okay. Bye, Eliot.”

She went in without another word, munching on a handful of cereal. Eliot fought a smile. He lost when Cassie reached out from a step above him and pulled him into a hug.

“Good bye, Detective Spencer. Thanks for everything.”

He hugged her back. “You're welcome, sweetheart. Take care of your sisters.”

“I always do.” She had a bit of a skip to her step as she went back into the house. 

Left alone with Devereaux, Eliot didn't really look at her right away. He focused on the door behind her as he climbed the last step up to the porch.

“Eliot...”

He had to look at her then. Her face was a mixture of emotions, and he couldn't read half of them. Usually, she tried to keep her expression neutral and most of her feelings came from her eyes, but in this moment she was unguarded. He wasn't sure if he liked it.

“It's been one hell of a ride,” he commented awkwardly.

“Yes.” A smile played over her mouth. “Fighting off a homicidal spirit.”

“And winning.”

The smile widened. “And winning.” She paused before adding, “I'm glad you were here.”

“Me, too.”

“It will seem strange here without you.”

“You'll finish your novel.”

She nodded slightly. “There is that.”

“What's the big idea of giving Jake a sneak peek and not me, anyway?”

Her eyes widened, and her hands came from her pockets. “He told you?”

“No. I found it.”

“Oh. Did you read it?”

“What do you think?”

“Did you like it?”

He thought about her description of Cole Maxwell. “He's a little angry, isn't he?”

She laughed and moved closer. “I like him.”

“Yeah, well, he probably likes you too.”

Warmth came to her eyes, and he felt a pull inside of him. God, she was beautiful. And she smelled good. And she was so close. All it would take was just to lean forward...

“I'll miss you.”

Once more, he wondered about the carriage house. “You're coming back?”

She looked around. “It's lovely out here, but I'd never survive. I need to be in the city.”

“Good.”

“You'll miss me, too,” she teased.

“I wouldn't go that far.”

“You will.”

“Devereaux...”

“It's all right. I won't tell anyone.”

He huffed, but he was actually pleased. “Well, I guess I'd better get goin'.”

“Yes, you probably should.”

“If you need anything, call me.”

“I will.”

“I mean it, Devereaux.”

“So do I.”

“Okay.”

If leaving her was this hard now, he wondered what it would be like if he ever touched her the way he wanted to. Eliot shifted restlessly but made no move to go.

“Eliot?” she asked.

“I'm just trying to remember if I forgot anything.”

“You didn't...and if you did you can always come back.”

“Yeah...so, I'll...” He pointed his thumb towards his car.

“I'll see you in four weeks.”

“Four weeks.”

She moved closer until her body lightly touched his. His pulse jumped as she put her hand on his hip and kissed his cheek. It felt both caring and sensual. He closed his eyes as she lingered; he felt too good to be the first to pull away.

When she shifted and moved her hand from his hip to his arm, he ached from the loss of her. Leaving the house was definitely for the best; he couldn't think clearly there.

Devereaux squeezed his arm, and he winked at her before turning to go down the steps. He could still feel her warmth on his skin as he approached his car.

She stayed on the porch watching him, her expression almost wistful. She looked soft and sad, and he was reminded of Rose in the photograph. It was enough to make him pause. When he did, Devereaux—Sophie, something deep inside of him whispered—lifted her hand in a simple wave. He lifted a hand back.

He got in his car and drove away, but he couldn't resist a final glance in his rear view mirror. She was still there watching him, a beautiful picture in the early morning sunshine. The wind played gently with her hair, and her shirt fluttered around her body. Eliot was too far away to be sure, but he thought he saw her smile before he turned the bend in the driveway, leaving her behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the end. I hope you enjoyed my little foray into complete AU. This version of the characters was a joy to write. Maybe I'll write in their universe again someday.


End file.
